The Lost Primarchs
by dorawarrior
Summary: "They are lost to us forever" - Malcador the Sigilite. Shrouded in mystery, lost to history, whispers of heresy. This is the tale of the Lost Ones, remembered only by the Emperor.
1. The Lord of Eagles

__I've been following WH40K for the past few years, in particular the Horus Heresy, and I've always been fascinated by the tantalising hints about the Second and Eleventh Primarch. So I'll try giving this fic a shot. I hope I'll be able to do it justice.

Please note, according to Black Library, the Second Primarch was the third to be discovered after Horus and Leman Russ. And I'll be drawing on some materials from various mythologies like they do in WH40K, including Tolkein's Legenderium...though only a small bit in that regard.

I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

_The people of Tempestas knew nothing but the Eternal Storm that covered their world. It was said by the eldest of them that the goddess Tempestas had created a beautiful world, an Eden for her chosen people. But the daemons of the Underworld were jealous, and had sought to take the land for themselves. To protect her people, Tempestas had unleashed the Eternal Storm to drown the daemons and keep them trapped in the Underworld forever. _

_She had wept at the destruction of her garden, but her chosen people had persevered throughout the millennia of hardships. With the world all but drowned in the floods, the people of Tempestas had built their refuges in the tallest mountains where water could not reach them. The violent oceans and winds prevented them from sailing, so they befriended the mighty Storm Eagles so that they may brave the violent skies. They hunted the beasts of the oceans for food, and grew what they could on the surface and the deeps of the mountains. Some made war on each other to take what they could survive._

_And so they had lived for as far as they could remember. _

_Until a day had come when the Eternal Storm was breached for the first time in living memory. There was a great boom, and suddenly, light streamed through a breach in the Storm. The people of Trident's Peak had looked up and wept as the light touched them, warming their bones ever so briefly from the cold wet embrace of Tempestas. _

_Then they saw it, the falling star. It streaked towards them through the breach even as the Storm healed its wound. Lightning assailed it from all sides, as though Tempestas herself was outraged by the offense it had caused. With a mighty crash, the star embedded itself onto the side the Left Peak, just out of reach of the violent ocean. _

_As the breach closed, the dim greyness of Tempestas returned._

_II II II_

_Firiel made her way down the treacherously slippery paths carved into the side of Left Peak. Her friend, Iona followed her from a distance, reluctant to get too close to the ocean. Firiel's garments were soaked through despite their resistance to water, as the rain and spray of the ocean pelted her relentlessly._

_Since the Breach, as it is now being called, the Storm had become even more violent, as though offended. Firiel had seen the star fall and wondered what it was. Her curiosity had been too much to bear, and now she found herself drawing closer to where it had fallen. Smoke was still rising from where it had crashed. _

_She made her way to it, despite Iona's protests._

"_Fi! Come back before the sea gets you!" cried Iona._

_Firiel ignored her and finally reach the crash site. The force of the star's fall had created a small cave, which was already starting to fill with water. Firiel entered it, taking care not to slip. The cave did not extend very far, and Firiel soon found the star._

_Only it was not a star._

_It was a strange metal box that was cylindrical in shape. On one side is what appeared to be a lid. Firiel made her way around to get a closer look and spotted what seemed to be numerals positioned below the lid._

_II_

_Her curiosity piqued, Firiel tried to remove the lid. After several minutes of struggling, the lid the finally fell away and Firiel beheld what was inside at last._

_A child._

_A child of such perfection that Firiel nearly wept at the sight of him. He lay on his side, sleeping peacefully as though unbothered by the howls of the Storm. Firiel had seen the star being struck by lightning as it had fell, but the child was completely unscathed. _

_He was even smiling as he dreamed._

_II II II_

_There was a great commotion as Firiel carried the child to main gate of Left Peak. The people gathered around her to get a closer look at the Child of the Stars or as some had even started to call him, the Son of the Storm. _

_The child slept on, smiling sweetly in Firiel's arms._

"_What will you do with him?" asked Iona._

_Firiel looked at her as though startled by the question. "Do you have to ask that? I will raise him of course."_

_Iona and the other women around her gasped with shock while the men looked on with amusement._

"_An unmarried woman raising a child by herself?" cried Iona. "That's madness!"_

"_Nevertheless, I will do so," answered Firiel, raising her chin stubbornly._

"_What will you call him, then?" asked one of the men._

_Firiel paused thoughtfully as she considered. As she did, a great cry rose over the howls of the Storm and the roars of the ocean. Everyone turned to see a great shape disappearing into the Storm._

"_Garuda…" whispered one of the men in awe._

"_The mightiest of the Storm Eagles," said another. "Most people go their whole lives without even glimpsing the Lord of the Eagles, and he appears so soon after this child's arrival? Truly, this is a good omen!"_

"_The Lord of Eagles," mused Firiel. "That is what I will name him."_

_She looked down at the sleeping child. _

"_The Lord of Eagles," she said to him. "Thorondor." _


	2. The Returned Son

__According to Black Library, the eleventh Primarch was found second to last, just before Alpharius. Due to his late discovery, the first half of this fic will revolve around the Primarch II, but in any case, here's the origin story I came up with for the Primarch XI. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

_For as long as the people of Baybar can remember, the pirate raids have always been part of their lives. The pirates would come on their ships, armed to the teeth with roaring swords and infernal pistols from a forgotten age. Terror would take the coast-dwellers then, for they knew the pirates would not stop till they get what they want._

_Oh, some fought back. Indeed, to the greatest of the coast-dwellers' cities which possessed such weapons and soldiers with the skills to use them, such raids were minor irritants, always repulsed before any true damage could be done._

_But the coast-dwellers of the tiny village of Nuba, the only option they had was to flee far into the desert mainland. They were fishermen and tradesmen, not soldiers. They had nothing of value for the pirates to take other than themselves, for the pirates would sell them into slavery and for some, an even worst fate to serve the pirates' debauchery._

_Babar and his wife, Ani had lived through countless raids over the forty years of their life. Whenever the watchman would cry out the warnings, they would pack their meagre belongings with the swiftness and efficiency of those who were not only used to such occurrences, but indeed expected them, and head inland as quickly as their aging bones would allow. It was a vicious, but familiar cycle, one that no one would expect to change._

_Only they had._

_The pirates had come in the dead of night, in silence rather than the usual ruckus that preceded them. The watchman, accustomed to the pirates' regular attacks in broad daylight, had relaxed his guard once the sun had gone down. He had failed, and had paid for that failure with his head cloven in half by one of the many roaring swords of the pirates._

_Babar and Ani had woken up to screams of terror and chaos. The pirates were capturing and killing at will, and some had gathered the women and even some of the young boys together and were eagerly starting their monstrous acts. _

_Babar grabbed Ani by the hand and the two of them had shuffled away as fast as they could, hoping to be overlooked in the chaos. _

_Fate was not kind to them._

_A pirate, a hulking brute of a man with tanned leathery skin decorated by countless scars and a missing eye on his wide hideous face blocked their path. He grinned, revealing numerous missing teeth._

"_Going somewhere, old man?" sneered the pirate, raising his sword. He pressed down on the switch, and the teeth of the sword roared into a blur. "Just when the fun's starting?"_

_Babar saw his death reflected in the pirate's sole soulless eye._

_A great boom from the sky halted the pirate's swing. Everyone, both coast-dweller and pirate alike looked to the sky to see a star hurtle down towards them. It struck the centre of the village, crushing several of the pirates._

_As ferocious and inhumanly cruel as they were, the pirates were superstitious cowards. A star from the heavens had fallen into the village they were raiding and killed some of their own; the village was clearly protected by whatever divine beings that watched from above. They fled back to their ships, falling all over themselves, screaming litanies to protect themselves from whatever curse that had fallen from the sky._

_The coast-dwellers wept in joy for their salvation, and grief for those they had already lost. But amidst the weeping, some approached the fallen star slowly; for fear that something worse had descended upon them._

_Babar and Ani inched closer to site of the star's crash. The crater formed from its fall was still smoking, but they could make out the shape within. A cylindrical container not unlike the ones used by the rich merchants to store the precious few produce that could be grown, but was far larger. It had a mark beneath the lid in a strange yet familiar script: __XI__._

_As Babar and Ani drew closer, a cry split the air, making them jump. Some of the coast-dwellers fled, screaming of daemons descending from the sky, while the older ones fell to their knees to recite incantations to ward off evil. To Babar and Ani though, it sounded like the cry of a child._

_It was coming from the container._

_Babar and Ani hurried forward to it._

"_Babar! Are you mad?" cried Beduin, the village spirit-speaker. "Get away from it! It is a thing of evil!"_

"_Has the seaweed made you deaf?" snapped Babar. "There's a child in there, or I'm a senile old fool!"_

"_Then you are a senile old fool!" exclaimed Beduin. "Ani! Make your man see sense!"_

"_But if there is a child in there, we can't just leave it," answered Ani._

"_Children come from a woman's womb!" cried Beduin, not quite daring to step closer to the container. "Not from burning boxes that fall from the sky! Only daemons do!"_

"_Or angels," retorted Babar as he and Ani set about to lifting the lid of the container._

"_Open that thing and you'll doom us all!" yelled Beduin._

_The couple ignored the spirit-speaker and continued with their task as the other villagers, torn between fear and curiosity gathered to watch. The cry continued, growing louder and louder and the coast-dwellers muttered to themselves in fear even as Beduin continued to curse Babar and Ani for their foolishness._

_They finally succeeded in lifting the lid and beheld what lay inside._

_It was a child, one of such beauty and perfection that Babar and Ani were stunned to silence. _

_The child turned to look upon them, tears streaming down his face as he continued to wail. _

_Ani stepped forward and picked the child up in her arms, rocking him comfortingly and singing old lullabies to calm him down._

_It worked; the child's wail quieted down to sniffles before he buried his face into the crook of Ani's neck and gradually fell asleep._

_Babar and Ani stepped away from the container with the child and the rest of the villagers murmur to themselves, some in awe, and others with fear._

"_What a beautiful boy..."_

"_Where did he come from?"_

"_From the sky...like an angel."_

"_A daemon..."_

_They parted before Babar and Ani as the old couple made their way to the little hut that they called home. Some of the villagers followed them, Beduin among them, hissing angrily._

"_If you have any sense at all, you'd throw that child into the sea!" Beduin said. "Let the sea spirits have him!"_

_Babar turned to face the spirit-speaker, his bushy eyebrows raised. "Drown a child? You've been smoking the wrong seaweed again! The child fell from the heavens and drove off the pirates! He is a blessing! A good omen! My wife and I will care for him!"_

"_That child is unnatural!"_

"_Natural or not, he is a child," growled Babar. "I'll not murder him."_

_With that, Babar and Ani entered their hut and slammed the door shut. Beduin and the other villagers lingered around outside for a moment before finally dispersing to repair the damage done from the pirate raid._

"_That child will doom us all," muttered Beduin to himself._

_XI XI XI_

_Inside the hut, Ani looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms. To hold such an innocent in her arms again was something she had thought would never happen again. She felt her eyes grow hot with tears of joy._

_A rough hand placed itself on her shoulder and she turned to look at her husband._

"_Babar," she said. "The heavens have blessed us with second chance."_

_Babar nodded solemnly. "To have a child again...and one as perfect as this."_

_Babar shook his head. "What should we call him?"_

_Ani looked down at the child in her arms again and felt love swell in her heart for the infant._

_For her son._

"_We'll name him after our firstborn," said Ani. "Hayreddin. We'll call him Hayreddin."_

_Babar nodded in approval._

"_Our son is returned to us."_


	3. Mother

Thank you Aktis for the review, the first two chapters are meant to be Prologues, so I thought putting them all in Italics would give a more "flashback" feel.

The next few chapters will focus on Primarch II and his eventual rediscovery by the Emperor.

I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

The rain, light compared to most days, pattered down incessantly as it always had since time immemorial. It was the gift of Tempestas, the elders said. It kept the daemons chained beneath the ocean, and helped the people of Tempestas grow strong.

Thorondor lifted his face to the sky, enjoying the rain. It was cool and cleansing, as though all the cares of the day had been washed away, leaving him feeling purified and refreshed.

Not that Thorondor tired easily, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. His smile, ever-present on his face, widened. He knew he was different from the others; for one, he was only two, but he was already as tall and stronger than most of the boys seven years his elder, and he was as intelligent as the adults. His name was already being murmured about around Left Peak. Thorondor didn't particularly care for the attention, but his mother always told him to listen and learn.

"Up here again?"

Thorondor turned to see Gwaine, his closest friend. Seven years his senior, Gwaine was the only one who truly towered over him and could match him in wits and strength. He had once saved Thorondor from falling off the cliff and into the ocean, and had since took Thorondor under his wing. The two had become fast friends since.

Thorondor nodded his head in greetings, his smile widening, which Gwaine returned.

The elder boy sat down beside Thorondor, enjoying the rain. They could make out the shapes of the Storm Eagles swooping up into the clouds, their screeches audible even above the patter of the rain.

"It must be amazing," said Thorondor. When Gwaine turned to look at him questioningly, Thorondor continued. "To be able to fly into the Storm itself. I wonder what the world looks like from up there."

"But we can find out, Thor," said Gwaine, grinning. "We have to become Storm Riders! We'll bond with our own Storm Eagle and fly into the Storm itself and fight the sea monsters and the daemons of the Deep!"

Though the Storm prevented much travel between the various eyries that the people of Tempestas made their home, there were still enterprising and brave souls who had manage to salvage past technologies from older civilisations that enabled them to rebuild and repair old aircrafts capable of withstanding the Storm. It was through their efforts that travelling and trade between the eyries were made possible. But as with all things, there were others who perverted such technologies to suit their own selfish ends by raiding smaller and weaker eyries, attacking the travellers and traders.

The old aircrafts were durable, but they were slow and the heavy cargo they carried meant that only a handful of armed men could guard the vessels. The aircrafts purloined by raiders however, were free from such cargo and thus could carry more men and travel much more quickly. Security of the trade routes and eyries became a paramount issue.

It was during this troubled time, that the first men who had bonded with the Storm Eagles offered to take up arms to protect the trade routes and the eyries. The average Eagle was as big as an aircraft but was also much faster and their feathers were as hard as steel, capable of withstanding the guns of the raiders and their claws were as hard and as sharp as diamonds, capable of tearing apart ship and men alike. Using what little ancient technology they could salvage, the riders of the Eagles developed long powered glaives and wrist mounted bolters that enabled them to fight from the back of their mighty mounts.

Thus they protected the eyries and the trade routes, flying with such speed and ferocity equal to the Storm itself.

As millennia passed, they became known as the Storm Riders, the guardians of the people of Tempestas.

Thorondor's smile widened, he always loved listening to the stories of the Storm Riders. He always imagined himself riding on the back of a mighty Storm Eagle, wielding a glaive and a wrist-mounted gun, swooping down to slay sea monsters and raiders with Gwaine flying alongside him; Gwaine had to be there, or it would not be right.

"Yes, we'll be Storm Riders one day," said Thorondor. "We'll fly into the Storm and protect our people."

Thorondor got to his feet, laughing, his imagination soaring.

"I'll ride on the back of Garuda himself! None can stand before me!"

"Ride on Garuda himself! The only thing you'll be riding is a hot bottom for standing out in this rain like a fool!"

Thorondor turned; his imagination brought crashing down by the sight of his furious mother, Firiel.

The woman strode over and cuffed Thorondor on the head, having to hop a little as her son towered over her.

"Back inside, both of you!" snapped Firiel, aiming a cuff at Gwaine, who dodged, grinning widely. The two boys ran back to the entrance of the tunnels where the people of Left Peak made their home, a screeching Firiel hot on their heels.

II II II

Thorondor wiped himself dry with an old towel, smiling as he watched Firiel heat up some soup to help warm him up, muttering under her breath as she did. Thorondor did not feel the cold at all, or hunger for that matter, but he always allowed Firiel to fuss over him as it seemed to give her peace of mind.

And he rather enjoyed it.

"Here," said Firiel, handing him a bowl of hot soup. Thorondor thanked her and eagerly drank it, his smile widening.

"Honestly, what am I going to do with you?" grumbled Firiel. "I know you don't feel cold the way the rest of us do, but that doesn't give you the right to do foolish things like stand in the rain."

As he had grown up, everyone had immediately noticed how unusual Thorondor was. There was his unnaturally fast growth rate, but his maturity had also astounded the elders; not that it stopped him from doing stupid things like most children, as Firiel had often grumbled. But they also noticed other things; how any wound of his seemed to heal almost instantly, his incredible resistance to the cold temperature of Tempestas and the fact that he had never fallen ill at all.

Not even once.

"Am I unnatural, mother?" Thorondor asked.

Firiel blinked at the question before cuffing him lightly on the head. "You're human, aren't you? You've got feet, a mouth, arms and legs and all that? You're as natural as anyone else here."

Thorondor's smile widened. He loved his mother, everyone else treated him a little differently because of his unusual biology, but Firiel had always treated him like she treated anyone else. If anything, she was harsher on him at times, since he was her son.

Was he?

Firiel scowled and pointed at his face. "That smile of yours though, that's unnatural. You're always smiling even when you shouldn't be. Like now."

"Why shouldn't I be smiling now?" asked Thorondor.

"Well, I'm upset with you, for one," snapped Firiel. "Standing out in the rain like a fool. What if you had caught a cold?"

"I don't catch colds, mother," answered Thorondor, his smile never leaving his face.

"Yet," retorted Firiel, raising a finger to shush him. "Just you because you haven't caught one yet, doesn't mean you won't. Understand?"

Thorondor nodded. What Firiel said made sense.

"Of course, mother."

Firiel sighed and her scowl finally vanished. She cupped Thorondor's cheeks.

"My boy," she said. "What would you do without me?"

Thorondor's smile faltered a little, not quite vanishing. He put the bowl down and held his mother's hands.

"Mother…I've always wanted to ask, why am I so different?"

Firiel blinked. "You're not…"

"Please mother, I must know," insisted Thorondor.

Firiel stared at her son, looking into his storm-grey eyes which revealed maturity far beyond his years. Human, yet something far beyond as well that she could not name. It scared her at times, but Thorondor was her son, no matter what.

"Alright," said Firiel. "You weren't…born. Not as we know it."

"I know you adopted me, mother," began Thorondor, but Firiel shook her head.

"We know you weren't born," she continued. "Because we saw you arrive."

She took a deep breath.

"You came from the Storm."

Thorondor sighed. "Mother, we all came from..."

"No, no," snapped Firiel impatiently. "I don't mean the things the elders say. I mean you literally came from the Storm. You know about the Breach?"

Thorondor nodded in surprise. Every child in Left Peak had been taught about the Breach, a brief moment where a part of the Eternal Storm hovering over Left Peak had broke, allowing true sunlight to stream through, however briefly.

Firiel nodded. "The Breach happened because of you. You fell from the sky in some sort of aircraft; it broke through the Storm."

Firiel closed her eyes as she remembered that day. "I remember that was the first time I saw true sunlight…how warm it was. But if anything, it seemed to make the Storm angrier. It struck you with lightning, several times in fact. You crashed onto Left Peak, where I found you."

Thorondor was silent as he pondered over Firiel's words.

"So I am different…" said Thorondor, his smile fading ever so slightly. "I am not one of the Children of the Storm…"

Firiel's hands cupped his cheeks, making him look at her. Her touch was tender, surpassed only by her gaze.

"Don't you ever think that, foolish boy," scolded Firiel gently. "Whether you came from the sky in an aircraft, or born of a woman, Tempestas is your home. You belong to her as much as I do. We are all equal beneath the Storm."

Thorondor felt his heart swell with love for his mother. He took her hands in his own, easily enveloping them.

"Thank you, mother."


	4. The Thunder Bearer

Primarch II's story continues...i hope you enjoy it...

* * *

Thorondor was four when he met his first Storm Rider.

And not just any Storm Rider.

The Storm Riders were the greatest warriors on Tempestas, though they were hardly a unified entity as they owed their loyalty to the various eyries that they called their home. Many names of the Storm Riders were etched into history and legend, but the greatest of them was one who still walked amongst them.

Torwald, the Thunder Bearer.

Grim, grizzled and tough, Torwald victories surpassed even the greatest Storm Riders of ages past, his name known throughout Tempestas. To the people of Tempestas, he was a hero.

To many other Storm Riders, he was a dangerous renegade. Torwald did not follow the traditions of the Storm Riders by swearing loyalty to a particular eyrie. Instead, he and his followers based themselves at a fortress known simply as the Iron Roost, aiding the people of Tempestas as needed and often calling on all Storm Riders to do the same.

Thorondor had heard of all this, and admired Torwald for it. Meeting the Thunder Bearer had been one of the most profound moments of his life.

The circumstances though, had been far more dire.

II II II

"Gwaine, I'm all for adventure," said Thorondor. "But this…"

"If you're too scared, pup, just say so," ribbed Gwaine, grinning widely.

Thorondor smiled.

The two of them were standing on one of the narrow pathways carved into the side of Left Peak, dangerously near to sea level. On most days, the particular path they were on would be inaccessible due to the violent waves, but the sea was calmer on that day. Nevertheless, the boys were careful to wear their safety harness, for the spray of the waves still reached the path.

Firiel would likely skin both him and Gwaine alive, if she ever caught them before the waves did, thought Thorondor idly.

"There it is," said Gwaine, pointing.

Further out, some hundred metres away ahead of them was rock island that was usually hidden by the violent waves. The calmer sea meant that it was periodically exposed, revealing the prize sought by the boys.

An oyster, one nearly the size of an aircraft.

Thorondor was impressed; an oyster that size would probably be able to feed two families, but more importantly, its location was hard to get to. Not only that, the calmer sea meant that predators are likely to be lurking beneath the surface.

Thorondor's smile widened. It was a most formidable challenge indeed.

Gwaine noticed the smile. "So you're up for it?"

"Of course," answered Thorondor. "You know, I'll understand if you want to back out…"

Gwaine laughed in answer.

II II II

Strong waves aside, the swim had been uneventful. Thorondor had reached the island first, with Gwaine arriving a minute later. Smiling, Thorondor had helped Gwaine up onto the island. Tying their safety harness to a solid rock formation nearby, they had approached the oyster, admiring its massive size.

"Magnificent," said Thorondor, tapping it with his knife. "It must have taken a very long time for it to grow."

"Yes," replied Gwaine. "Seems like a shame to eat it."

"Yes…but our people need it," said Thorondor.

They stand back, taking in the oyster.

"So how are we going to carry it back?" asked Thorondor.

Gwaine stared at Thorondor for a long moment. "I have no bloody idea."

The two of them stared at each other and started laughing. They laughed long and hard, the sound rising above the waves.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to settle for beating you here first," snorted Thorondor with amusement, sheathing his knife.

"You got lucky," protested Gwaine. "A wave pushed me a little off course."

"Doesn't matter, I still win."

"Brat."

The two of them chortled a little at that. Around them, the waves start to beat harder against Left Peak and the island they were on.

"I guess we better get back," said Gwaine at last. "Before the sea…"

Before he could finish, a sudden wave suddenly swept across the island, throwing them off their feet. Thorondor's safety harness held, but to his horror, Gwaine's broke, and he was swept across the island towards open sea, scrabbling desperately to hold on to the island's slippery surface.

"Gwaine!" screamed Thorondor.

Without thinking, without hesitating, he ripped away his safety harness and dove after Gwaine, riding the wave to close the distance between them. Ignoring the pain as his body slid across the surface, he grabbed Gwaine's hand and managed to seize a rock outcropping that halted their slide.

But only for a moment.

A second wave and the strength of Thorondor's grip caused the rock outcropping to crumble and swept them out towards open sea.

Desperate, Thorondor drew out his knife and stabbed into the rocky surface, praying to Tempestas that knife wouldn't break.

It didn't.

Thorondor and Gwaine held on, hoping for a lull in the waves so that they could make a break for Left Peak, but the sea was rising quickly and violently.

_This is not good_ thought Thorondor, smiling grimly. At the rate the sea was rising, they'd both drown soon.

"Thor!" Gwaine yelled over the roaring waves.

Thorondor turned and his eyes widened.

A giant turtle was swimming towards them, completely unbothered by the violent waves.

_Definitely not good_ thought Thorondor. Giant turtles were one of the most ferocious predators in Tempestas's seas. Their near-impenetrable shell meant that very few other predators could prey on them, let alone the weapons available to the people of Tempestas.

The giant turtle rapidly closed the distance, its dark eyes fixed on them with hungry intent. Thorondor swore under his breath. He and Gwaine were the best swimmers in Left Peak, but there was no way they could outswim the beast.

That left only…

"Gwaine!" called Thorondor. "Do you trust me?"

"What?" asked Gwaine, his eyes fixed on the approaching beast.

"No time, take a deep breath, just hold on and don't let go!" yelled Thorondor.

"Thor, what are you…!" Gwaine screamed when Thorondor let the knife go, allowing the waves to carry them out to open sea, right towards the beast.

It was madness.

And brilliant.

The giant turtle was clearly surprised, and only too late made a snap for them, missing them by inches as the force of the waves caused them to shoot past it. They kicked desperately for the surface, finally breaching it, taking deep breaths.

"Are you…you…" gasped Gwaine incoherently.

"We're still alive aren't we?" retorted Thorondor, smiling grimly. "But I don't think we're quite out of it yet."

The turtle had turned and was pursuing them, riding on the very waves and currents that were sweeping them away.

"Any more bright ideas?" asked Gwaine, drawing his knife.

"I'll admit I didn't think that far ahead," answered Thorondor.

The turtle bore down on them, closing the gap swiftly, its beak wide open, revealing the serrated edges.

"Thor…" growled Gwaine nervously.

"We're going to have to fight," said Thorondor quietly.

Before Gwaine could respond to the ludicrous statement, the turtle was on them. It went for Thorondor, clamping its beak down on him.

Gwaine screamed Thorondor's name in horror as the water frothed and bubbled. The beast reared its head and Gwaine gasped in shock.

Thorondor was holding the beast's mouth open with his hands and legs, his muscles straining powerfully. His thick boots held off the serrated edges, but his hands had no such protection, and they were bleeding profusely. Gwaine caught a glimpse of Thorondor's face as the giant turtle shook its head, growling in frustration.

Despite the pain he must be in, Thorondor was smiling, albeit in a strained manner.

Holding his knife between his teeth, Gwaine swam towards the beast.

II II II

It was interesting, that even though he was facing certain death, his muscles straining, his hands screaming in pain from the serrated edges of the turtle's beak, and its rank breath blasting away in his face, Thorondor felt no fear.

Only an insane sort of exhilaration.

Was this how all men felt when death stared them in the face?

The beast tried to bite down, but Thorondor still managed to muster an inhuman amount of strength to keep it at bay, despite the flesh of his palms tearing.

How long could he keep this up? For a long time, he was certain, but if the beast were to dive…

As though realising it, the beast began to dive.

Smiling grimly, Thorondor realised it was all over, there was no way he could keep the beast at bay while having to hold his breath at the same time. He wished that he could have said goodbye to Firiel…

Suddenly, the beast jerked and roared in agony, releasing Thorondor. Swiftly, Thorondor kicked away and swam as hard as he could away from it, grimacing a little as the saltwater stung the wounds on his hands. Turning to look back, he saw the giant turtle thrashing in pain, a knife buried in one of its eyes.

"So now what?" asked Gwaine, swimming up to him.

"You saved me…" said Thorondor, smiling gratefully at him.

"Not for long, that thing is just getting angry," retorted Gwaine. "Should we try to swim away?"

"We could, but…" began Thorondor, but then, as though realising what they were talking about, the turtle charged at them, bellowing with rage.

With no other option, Thorondor and Gwaine tried to swim away, but the beast swiftly caught up to them, opening its beak to swallow them whole.

There were a series of noises, as loud as thunder, followed by a screech. A dark shape swooped down.

Thorondor and Gwaine turned to see a huge Storm Eagle attacking the giant turtle, clawing and pecking at its face. But it was the warrior on its back the caught the boys' attention. Armoured and armed with a wrist-mounted gun and a glaive.

A Storm Rider.

The turtle snapped at the Eagle and it broke away, hovering out of reach. The Storm Rider fired off a series of shots that missed – deliberately, Thorondor realised; the Storm Rider was trying to scare the beast away. But the giant turtle was maddened by its earlier wounds and charge towards the boys again, ignoring the Storm Eagle and its mount.

Then the Storm Rider did something that Thorondor would never forget throughout his life, not even during all the events of the hateful future.

The Storm Rider leapt from the Eagle's back right onto the turtle's head. He used the force of his fall and gravity to drive his glaive right through the beast's skull.

The turtle jerked and spasmed for a long while before finally dying, twitching slightly, a floating island-corpse.

Thorondor and Gwaine swam towards it, where the Storm Rider sat on the massive shell, waiting for them. He watched them silently as they climbed onto the dead beast's back, not moving to help.

"Th…thank you," spluttered Gwaine with exhaustion. Thorondor said nothing, studying the Storm Rider.

He was old, Thorondor realised. Definitely past his prime, but there was a strength about him that Thorondor could feel and he instinctive knew that the Storm Rider was far stronger than Gwaine and himself. There was a lightning emblem on the Storm Rider's right shoulder pauldron, and that and his age, gave Thorondor a very good idea on who he was.

"You…you're the Thunder Bearer," said Thorondor, his voice soft with awe. "You're Torwald."

Gwaine's mouth fell open with a mixture of shock and awe.

The Storm Rider nodded curtly. "I am."

The warrior removed his helm, revealing a grizzled and scarred face, with a neat grey beard and moustache kept short and equally grey hair cropped close to his skull and hard storm-grey eyes.

Eyes very similar to Thorondor's.

"How did you two end up out here?" asked Torwald.

Gwaine told the tale and the Storm Rider's eyebrows shot up.

"Truly?" responded Torwarld, disbelief in his voice. Looking at Thorondor, he added: "Show me your hands."

Thorondor obeyed, revealing the wounds that were already starting in the middle of healing. Torwald studied them silently for a moment.

"You held off the beast with your bare hands?" asked Torwald. Thorondor nodded, and the Storm Rider turned to Gwaine. "And you stabbed it in the eye?"

Gwaine nodded.

"Hah!" a hard smile appeared on the Thunder Bearer's face. "Foolish youngsters; you would have definitely died if I hadn't been passing by. But you have strength and courage. Impressive, most impressive."

He stood, and Thorondor knew that if he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Torwald, he would still be half a head shorter than him. It was unsettling; at four, Thorondor was already taller than all the adults at Left Peak; only Gwaine was his equal in height, but only barely. The Thunder Bearer was a warrior of immense size and even greater presence.

"Where are you from?" asked Torwald.

"Left Peak," answered Thorondor.

"Part of the Trident's Peak," said Torwald, nodding. "I was headed there anyway. I'll take you boys home."

"But…" asked Gwaine hesitantly. "Can your Eagle carry all of us?"

There was a screech and the Storm Eagle landed behind Torwald, folding its wings as it perched on the dead giant turtle, glaring down at the boys.

"Careful, boy," chuckled Torwald. "Tor doesn't like to be insulted."

II II II

That was how Thorondor and Gwaine found themselves riding a Storm Eagle alongside the greatest Storm Rider to ever challenge the Eternal Storm of Tempestas.

The wind howled and the Storm rumbled overhead, but Tor the Storm Eagle and his rider flew confidently, ignoring the two awestruck boys.

"Wait till we tell everyone about this," whispered Gwaine in awe.

Thorondor nodded, turning his face up to face the Storm, his smile widening.


	5. Storm Rider

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter

* * *

It had been three years since the incident with the giant turtle, and at times, Thorondor still wondered how it had come to this.

He stood alone at the base of the massive cliff, near the raging seas below. He looked up at the towering cliff, the well-worn path that travelled up its sides. High above in the skies, he could see great shapes circling above.

Storm Eagles.

The entire cliff was known as simply, the Nest. More of a mountain than a cliff, it rose up higher than any other mountain, island and stable landmass on Tempestas, with its peak grazing the Eternal Storm itself. It was the home to many Storm Eagles, and Garuda himself was believed to dwell at the very top of the mountain.

With so many Storm Eagles calling it home, The Nest was the site for initiates to ascend to the lofty ranks of the Storm Riders. It was there, that they would bond with a Storm Eagle, or if they were found wanting, the Storm Eagles would tear them apart.

It was why Thorondor was there.

II II II

When Torwald had arrived back at Left Peak with Thorondor and Gwaine, the whole place had been in uproar as they searched for the missing boys. Firiel in particular, had shrieked with both relief and outrage when Thorondor had gotten off the Storm Eagle, smiling.

After allowing the people to fuss and reprimand the two boys, Torwald had revealed his reasons for coming.

"I'm looking for initiates to join the Storm Riders," said Torwald. "My brothers and I set out to many different settlements and test potential recruits. Those we deem worthy, we invite to join our order."

He looked over at Thorondor and Gwaine.

"You both have proven yourselves worthy, the way you faced the giant turtle, that took courage."

Gwaine's eyes had widened. "We…we are to join the Storm Riders?"

Torwarld had chuckled, a harsh and hard noise.

"I never said worthy of joining. I said worthy of invitation."

Torwald glanced over at where the other youngsters had gathered, looking up at him with awe.

"I won't have to test you," he said. "But to prove that you are also worthy of joining, you must make your way to the Iron Roost with your own strength."

"But…that's leagues away from here," protested Gwaine.

Torwald shrugged. "Then don't go. By facing that beast, you both proved that you had courage and a ridiculous amount of luck. Now prove you have the ability to go with it."

Torwald looked at them one last time, his gaze lingering on Thorondor. He nodded and turned away.

II II II

Thorondor had sat down in the small room he and Firiel called home. He looked around as Firiel prepared a stew for both of them, clattering around the little kitchen while cursing foolhardy boys with no regard for their mothers.

Thorondor was still growing, but already the room was starting to feel too cramped for him. But it was more than that; Left Peak, no, even Trident's Peak felt too small for him. Deep down, Thorondor knew that he was never going to stay at Left Peak for long. He needed to strike out, make his mark on Tempestas. Torwald had given him an opportunity, and he knew that he had to take it.

He sighed inwardly, after nearly giving Firiel a heart attack, he was about to give her more heartbreaking news. He knew that he and Gwaine's exploits caused Firiel and Gwaine's own family no end of worry, and while he couldn't exactly help it, he did feel bad about it.

He took a deep breath, preparing to gently, but firmly insist that he was going to the Iron Roost, without Firiel's blessing if he must.

"Mother," began Thorondor. "I'm going to the Iron Roost."

Immediately, the clattering stopped. Thorondor looked up to see Firiel's back facing him. He prepared himself for the outburst.

"Of course you are."

Firiel turned, and there was sad smile on her face. "You've been chosen by the Thunder Bearer himself, of course you'll go."

Thorondor was completely taken aback; he had been expecting some shouting, a cuff on the head; not this acceptance.

"Don't look so surprised," snapped Firiel with a bite of her old impatience. "You're my son; of course you are destined for great things. What could be greater than joining the Storm Riders?"

"You're not upset?" asked Thorondor.

Firiel smiled and cupped Thorondor's cheeks. "Of course I'll miss you, my foolish boy. But don't you let that hold you back. Go to the Iron Roost, become a great Storm Rider. Become even greater than the Thunder Bearer himself."

Thorondor nodded, his ever-present smile widening.

"Of course, mother."

II II II

Preparations for the journey had taken several weeks, during which Thorondor and Gwaine (who had also decided to go) had both procured a boat from one of the older men of Left Peak. While the violent waves made sea-travel near impossible, the people of Tempestas kept sturdy boats for fishing during the few times when the weather of Tempestas softened enough to allow it. Thorondor and Gwaine salvaged various materials to make it stronger for sea travel and even managed to improve the hydro-based engines. Out on open sea, the boat would be able to ride out most of the violent waves, but against the more violent coastlines, it wouldn't last long.

Once, while Thorondor and Gwaine were working on the boat, Torwald came by. He said nothing, but only sat himself down on a nearby rock, his eyes watching them as they worked.

Thorondor wondered if he and Gwaine were supposed to make their way to Iron Roost on their own, independent of each other, but Torwald made no comment, but when he left, Thorondor thought he saw a glimmer of approval in the Thunder Bearer's stormy eyes.

II II II

The journey from Left Peak to the Iron Roost had taken the better part of a year.

The violent waves, attacks from various predators, food stores running low and more violent outbursts from the Eternal Storm itself had battered Thorondor and Gwaine and their boat. Despite the availability of water to fuel the engines, the going was slow.

When they came within sight of the Iron Roost; a towering, dark grey rock formation rising in the shape of a spear-tip, their boat's engine finally died. Forced to row, the last stage of the journey took them a little over a month, due to the violent weather.

In the end, they had only reached the Iron Roost when a particularly vicious wave slammed their boat against the rocky walls of the Iron Roost.

Gwaine had nearly died, knocked unconscious by the impact, but Thorondor had managed to stay conscious and had carried his friend on his shoulders as he made his way up the narrow, steep paths carved in the side of the Roost.

After long hours of climbing, Thorondor finally reached one of the small entrances built into the side of the Roost. To his astonishment, he found Torwald waiting for him there.

The Thunder Bearer had glanced at the unconscious Gwaine on Thorondor's. "Most would have simply left their comrades behind."

"He is my friend," Thorondor had answered defiantly. "How could I leave him behind?"

"He must have been a tremendous burden to carry all the way up here," responded Torwald coldly. "You would have reached here faster if you had just left him."

"We made this journey together," answered Thorondor. "And we will finish it together. Both of us would have never even made it here on our own."

Torwald had said nothing for a long while, staring at Thorondor, who had stared back evenly. Torwald idly noted that the boy had grown as tall as him. Finally, he had smiled.

"That's right, neither of you would have made it without the other," he said. "That's what many of initiates fail to understand about the Storm Riders. They see us as warriors capable of slaying an army of monsters single-handedly; the truth is we always fight alongside our brothers and our Eagles. We look out for each other, cover each other's weak points and complement each other's strengths. Our brotherhood is all we have in the face of the Unending Storm."

Torwald reach out to clap Thorondor on the arm.

"Welcome, initiates."

II II II

So Thorondor and Gwaine had spent the following two years training under the tutelage of the Storm Riders.

They had learned to fight with glaive and gun under the guidance of the tough, battle-hardened giant Adalgrim. They had learned how to care for a Storm Eagle from the ancient Master Ghasaan, the various strategies in combat from Master Storr and numerous other skills required to be a Storm Rider.

Gwaine had matured into a fine warrior, sound of body and of mind, but his development had been nothing as compared to Thorondor's.

Thorondor had grown so large, that he towered over even Torwald and Adalgrim, the two largest warriors in the Storm Riders. His strength and endurance coupled with his skill with the glaive and gun were such that even Torwald had remarked in private that he doubted that he could defeat Thorondor. But even more astonishingly, Thorondor had quickly outstripped Master Storr and the other venerable strategists in their knowledge, able to find weaknesses and tried and proven tactics, and innovating others that far surpassed the old ones.

There had been no doubt that Thorondor and Gwaine would be worthy of becoming fully-fledged Storm Riders.

Due to his seniority by age, Gwaine had been given leave to go to the Nest to bond (or die) with a Storm Eagle.

He had returned several days later on the back of fine male he had named Deor.

Several weeks after that, Thorondor had been given leave.

II II II

Thorondor slowly climbed the Nest, looking for a Storm Eagle who would find him worthy.

Storm Eagles are famously intelligent and proud animals. Aggressive and bold, they would accept none but the bravest, strongest and wisest human to bond with. As such, they often killed those they deemed unworthy. They were the mightiest creatures to soar the violent skies of Tempestas, and so bowed to no one.

But they did to Thorondor.

None of the Storm Eagles that Thorondor met in his path would meet his gaze, instead turning away in almost…submissive manner. One Eagle had tried to bar Thorondor's path, only to flee, shrieking.

This continued for a long while, until before long, Thorondor found himself unconsciously making for the peak of the Nest.

Where the mightiest Storm Eagle, Garuda was rumoured to dwell.

Thorondor's smile widened.

II II II

Climbing to the peak had taken Thorondor four days, but he barely tired; his arms and legs moving seemingly of their own accord.

By the night of the fourth day, Thorondor finally reached the peak.

It was a flat surface, with bones of various prey littered around including, Thorondor noted, a giant turtle as large as the one he and Gwaine had faced. There was a scent in the air, spicy yet steely: the scent associated with Storm Eagles.

This was the reputed lair of Garuda, yet there was no sign of the legendary Storm Eagle.

Thorondor sighed in frustration, settling himself down on a rock as he pondered his next move. Four days of incessant climbing, only to find nothing at the top. None of the other Storm Eagles he had encountered on the way up would bond with him, instead fleeing at his approach.

Thorondor found himself looking at the dark grey clouds of the Storm. He just realised how close he was to the Storm; so close…that he felt that he could reach for it…

A great shadow swooped over him.

Thorondor turned to look up and saw a great shape emerge from the Storm.

A great cry rang out, cutting across the ever-present rumbling of the Eternal Storm. The creature landed on the flat surface of the Nest's peak, causing a great quake as it did, facing Thorondor.

Thorondor had only been awed once in his life, and that was when he had first met Torwald. This was the second time.

Facing him was the largest Storm Eagle Thorondor had ever seen. It was bigger than six, perhaps seven aircrafts put together, and its talons could have easily enveloped a giant turtle.

As big as he was, Thorondor was truly small compared to the Eagle, his head only barely reaching the middle joint of one, massive leg.

This could only be Garuda, the Lord of the Storm Eagles.

Garuda spread his wings wide, its span easily stretching out over the edges of the peak and let out another cry that shook the Nest itself.

Thorondor stood his ground, facing the Storm Eagle.

Finally, Garuda ceased his cry, and folded his wings. He leaned forward to get a closer look at Thorondor, his beak; easily bigger than Thorondor's torso, coming within striking distance.

Thorondor still stood his ground, looking into the storm-grey eyes of Garuda.

Eyes, very similar to Thorondor's own.

II II II

Gwaine paced anxiously on one of the many open-air platforms built on the Iron Roost. His Eagle, Deor, groomed itself, seemingly unaware of his partner's anxiety.

"You're still here, lad?"

Gwaine turned to see Torwald approach, with his own Storm Eagle Tor following behind. Deor chirped at Tor, who glared back imperiously at the younger Storm Eagle, making Deor lower its head in submission to the older and bigger Storm Eagle.

"He's been gone for nearly two weeks, master," answered Gwaine. "The journey to the nest takes that long, but the bonding itself takes a day or two. An Eagle can fly back here within a day or two. He should have been back by now."

"Unless the Eagles found him wanting," said Torwald.

"You know that's impossible, master," said Gwaine. "If Thor isn't worthy, then none of us would be."

Torwald shrugged, knowing what Gwaine said was true, but there was nothing he could say to allay the young Storm Rider's fears.

Abruptly, Gwaine strode towards Deor. "I'm going to go find him."

"You can't," said Torwald. "Either Thorondor comes back with a Storm Eagle, or he doesn't come back at all."

"But.."

"This is how it has always been, lad…"

A great shadow fell over them, making Gwaine and Torwald look up in alarm. A Storm Eagle of impossible size and majesty hovered before them, beating its massive wings powerfully to keep itself aloft.

"By the Storm!" cried Torwald.

"It can't be…" whispered Gwaine.

The other two Storm Eagles on the platform, Tor and Deor had lowered their heads in submission to the titanic Storm Eagle and its rider.

Thorondor looked down at Gwaine and Torwald from his perch on his Storm Eagle's back. His smile, ever-present, was incredibly wide and full of mischief; he was clearly delighting in their stunned reaction.

"Master Torwald, Gwaine," said Thorondor. "I believe you know Garuda."

Garuda let out a great cry that echoed not only throughout the Iron Roost.

It echoed throughout Tempestas herself.


	6. Brothers

As always, I hope you enjoy...

* * *

Though often viewed as noble heroes by the common people of Tempestas, the truth was that most Storm Riders operate similarly to mercenaries. Those who weren't sworn to eyries often peddle out their services, usually in the form of security escorts for trade routes or general security of smaller settlements. Those who were sworn to eyries often get paid in tribute to protect the eyries and any of the eyries interests, though they could still be hired by other eyries for the right price.

In short, a Storm Rider's loyalty usually goes to the highest bidder. Often, small wars would break out between different groups of Storm Riders over their tribute and business operation territories.

One notable exception would the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost.

Torwald had often advocated that the Storm Riders return to their ancient duties as guardians of the people of Tempestas, not profiteering as glorified sellswords. In deference to this ideal, the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost would send out their Riders to protect the smaller and weaker settlements from raiders, while still accepting payment for security escort work.

But always, their first priority was to protect, not to profit.

The day they forget that, the Thunder Bearer had cautioned, was the day that the weak of Tempestas would become truly helpless.

II II II

Thorondor and Gwaine had fought in numerous skirmishes against the raiders. It was the practice of Storm Riders to place new Storm Riders into squads of five under the leadership of a senior Storm Rider, but Garuda, being the largest and mightiest of the Storm Eagle, had refused to bow to any other Storm Eagle, and none of the other Storm Eagles had wanted to cross him.

Instead, Torwald had allowed the creation of two new squads, with Thorondor and Gwaine in charge of each of them, under the strict condition that they report to him before undertaking any action. There had been some protests over the decision, but given Thorondor and Gwaine's outstanding abilities and Garuda's angry glare, the decision had been accepted, albeit grudgingly.

With the outstanding achievements of the two new squads under the two, the acceptance had quickly turned from grudging to admiration.

II II II

One day, after returning from a mission where both their squads had worked together to take out a particularly tough group of raiders, Thorondor and Gwaine had found out that a messenger raven brought pleas for aid from Left Peak, which had come under attack from raiders.

Thorondor and Gwaine's squads had been the only ones available to respond, but with Torwald away, they could not go without violating their orders not to act without the Thunder Bearer's permission.

Thorondor and Gwaine went anyway, leaving their squads behind to prevent them from getting into trouble.

II II II

When they arrived, they found that the raiders numbered a little over a hundred, with roughly two dozen aircrafts circling Left Peak. Smoke was rising from Thorondor and Gwaine's home.

Without hesitating, Thorondor and Gwaine urged their mounts to descend upon the aircrafts.

Garuda's massive wings knocked eight of the aircrafts out of the air, causing them to crash into the sea or the rocky surface of Left Peak while Deor, at Gwaine's urging, methodically took out several of the bigger aircrafts by descending on them and tearing out their wings.

Taken by surprise, and far too slow, the raiders' aircrafts were unable to even fire upon the two Storm Eagles that had descended amongst them.

Once they cleared away the aircrafts, Thorondor and Gwaine descended upon the raiders on Left Peak. The raiders fired up at them, but their bullets were unable to pierce the Garuda and Deor's steel-like feathers. Some of the raiders had weapons that fired explosive ammo that were capable of at least injuring a Storm Eagle, but the Eagles were too quick and mobile in the air to be hit by such clumsy weapons.

With a swoop, both Garuda and Deor had slain more than half of the raiders on Left Peak's surface. What they had dropped in their midst cleaned up the rest.

As Garuda and Doer and swooped down, Thorondor and Gwaine had leapt off their mounts' backs and into the raiders. Their power-glaives sliced effortlessly through the raiders' ramshackle armour, and their wrist-guns roared, the bullets tearing through raider skulls. None of the raiders came close to harming the two Storm Riders.

Within moments, all of them were dead.

Gwaine was breathing heavily, but Thorondor hadn't even broken a sweat. Near one of the entrance leading into the tunnels of Left Peak, they could hear gunfire and shouting where the raiders had gone in after the inhabitants.

Without a word, Thorondor entered, with Gwaine close behind.

II II II

Gwaine had known Thorondor for a long time. He had been with Thorondor throughout all their adventures (or misadventures) together, every dangerous situation and every battle and skirmish since they became Storm Riders.

But for the first time ever, Thorondor scared him.

He had seen Thorondor in battle, and as always, the only display of emotion on his friend's face had been the familiar (and at times, irritating) smile. The smile would change in subtle ways depending on what Thorondor felt, and even in the heat of battle, it was still there, grim for certain, but still a smile.

Right there and then, the smile scared him.

Thorondor's smile had become cold and menacing as he carved a bloody path through the raiders in the tunnels. The power glaive had proven to be too long to wield in the narrow space, so Thorondor and Gwaine had discarded them in favour of the chainswords they obtained from the slain raiders. Thorondor's skill with the chainsword was no less than his skill with the glaive and the dismembered, bloody torsos of the raiders were testament to that.

Before long, Gwaine found himself slipping in the blood and filth running down the tunnels from the corpses of the raiders. Thorondor marched on, unperturbed.

The whole air around Thorondor had become so foreboding that Gwaine found himself keeping his distance.

The raiders, so many of them felled by Thorondor, had started pleading for mercy.

Thorondor gave them none.

The last of them, a young man only a few years younger than Gwaine, had soiled himself, dropping his weapon and to his knees as Thorondor had advanced on him. He had managed only a brief cry for mercy before Thorondor clove him in half in bloody splatter.

Thorondor had stood still for a long while after that, and Gwaine had found himself unable to approach his friend; fear had completely paralysed him.

Thorondor was covered in blood, and his smile remained frozen on his face, menacing and cold and his eyes blazed as though the Eternal Storm itself raged within them. To Gwaine, it was as if the ancient daemons from the stories told by the elders had come to life. Yet, it also felt right...as though it was how Thorondor was always meant to be.

"Thorondor?"

The soft voice made Thorondor start, as though out of a dream. He turned to see the surviving inhabitants of Left Peak emerging from the other tunnels, led by the local guards.

Firiel was with them, and it was her voice that woken Thorondor from his murderous trance.

"Mother..."

Thorondor strode towards her, embracing her in his massive arms; he had grown so large that she only reached his midsection. Around them, the others had given Thorondor a wide berth.

Firiel embrace her son back, ignoring the blood.

"My son, you came back," she said.

"Of course," said Thorondor. "I would never abandon you."

He looked around at the people gathered around them.

"All of you."

II II II

The elder Storm Riders at the Iron Roost had been furious when Thorondor and Gwaine had returned, but none of them had quite dared to reprimand Thorondor; not when he was covered in gore from head to toe, and certainly not with Garuda hissing menacingly from behind his partner.

Torwald however, had faced both Thorondor and Gwaine without even flinching and confined them to their quarters as punishment.

Both Thorondor and Gwaine had accepted their punishment without a word and obeyed.

They were both silent as they made their way to their quarters. Gwaine kept shooting glances at his friend, but didn't dare to say anything and Thorondor seemed to have retreated deep into his thoughts.

When they reached the junction in the corridors that led to their respective quarters, they turned to part ways.

Gwaine wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't know what. He felt as though something between him and Thorondor had changed...or worse, broken. He felt that if he didn't talk to Thorondor about what had happened, a terrible distance would open up between them.

"Gwaine."

Gwaine halted and turned.

Thorondor had his back to him, standing still in the corridor, filling it with not only his immense size, but also with his presence. It seemed to roll of him in thunderous waves, and Gwaine wondered at how he had never felt it before.

"Are you afraid of me?"

The questions casually, but Gwaine could hear a plea beneath it.

Gwaine was surprised. It sounded as if Thorondor himself was frightened. Thorondor turned to face him, and Gwaine saw a hint of uncertainty in his face despite the smile on it.

The big brother instinct of Gwaine had him wanting to reassure Thorondor, to make a jest that would dispel the terrible tension between them. But he couldn't find it within himself to do so. Not when he was so close to soiling himself in fear.

"I...I don't know, Thor."

II II II

Confined to his quarters, Gwaine had spent most of his time maintaining his armour and weapons. Occasionally, Deor would visit, perching himself on rock outcropping just outside the single window of his quarters, squawking at him or dropping a fish or two for him.

The general solitude gave Gwaine plenty of time to think about what had happened at Left Peak.

He wondered why the events had shaken him so. The situation had been straightforward; civilian had been attacked by raiders and as Storm Riders, they had done their duty, albeit without the official sanction of their leaders.

Was it the violence with which Thorondor had fought? Was it the mercilessness that he had shown?

Before the events of Left Peak, Gwaine and Thorondor had fought together numerous times; and while Thorondor had always fought with deadly strength and skill, the smile on his face had always been one of cool detachment; as though he had felt nothing for his adversaries.

The smile Thorondor had worn at Left Peak though, that had been full of rage. It had leaked out of Thorondor's very being, it had gone into every stroke of his weapon, and it had been vented with every life he had taken that day. It had been almost...natural.

As though it was what Thorondor had been made to do, and that was what scared Gwaine most of all.

The more he thought about it, the more Gwaine realised how different Thorondor was to the other people of Tempestas. His rapid maturity, his strength, his intelligence, his fortitude and his unnaturally fast healing rate; none of it was what could be called natural. At one point, Gwaine could match Thorondor in almost every way, but Gwaine had seen just how large the gap between them had become.

Thorondor was so far above him in every way, and Gwaine had gotten used to it. He had realised as they had been growing up that he would never be able to keep up with Thorondor, but he had always pushed himself to pursue Thorondor, to try to reach the lofty heights that had come so naturally to Thorondor.

Thorondor was the benchmark against which Gwaine would always fall short.

Yet, the way Thorondor had looked at him when he had asked if Gwaine was frightened of him, it had reminded Gwaine of another memory, one that he had almost forgotten.

It was when they had first met.

II II II

Thorondor had only been a year old then, but he was already as big as the children five years his elder. He was the strange child, the one who had fallen from the Storm and some had even whispered that he was a daemon.

Gwaine, only eight at the time, had first met Thorondor while he had been doing his chores, collecting some of the edible lichen that had grown around one of the openings in the side of the rocky surface of Left Peak. He had seen Thorondor leaning out one of the neighbouring openings, reaching for something below.

Gwaine had tried to call out a warning, to tell Thorondor to get back in before the waves get him, but the waves had got him first. Gwaine had leapt out, letting out his safety harness so he could catch up with falling boy. He had caught Thorondor just before they had both hit the sea and had dangled there as the waves sprayed them.

It had taken them awhile to get back in, but when they did, Gwaine had glared at Thorondor.

"Just what the hell were you trying to do?" Gwaine had demanded. His anger however, had melted away upon meeting Thorondor's gaze. The younger boy had been gazing at him with gratitude and awe.

"Thank you for saving me," Thorondor had said.

Gwaine had nodded. "So what were you trying to do?"

Thorondor extended his hand towards Gwaine, showing him what was in his palm.

It was an injured raven, and it was bleeding.

"I saw it just beneath the opening," explained Thorondor. "I couldn't just leave it."

Gwaine had been struck speechless by the earnest and innocent sincerity in Thorondor's words.

"Foolish boy," said Gwaine, but without any venom. "You need someone to look after you, to stop you from doing something stupid. Do you have a brother?"

"No," answered Thorondor.

"Well you do now," said Gwaine, tapping him roughly on the shoulder. "I'm Gwaine, I'll look out for you from now on."

"Really?" said Thorondor, looking happily surprised.

Gwaine nodded. "Your name?"

"Thorondor," answered the younger boy had answered.

II II II

Gwaine shook his head as he remembered those days. He still didn't know what had made him say that all those years ago. There had been something so disarmingly innocent in Thorondor then, and something in Gwaine had wanted to protect him.

But after what had happened at Left Peak…

Maybe that was what truly bothered him, thought Gwaine. That Thorondor didn't need his protection. That Thorondor had completely outgrown him.

Then, he remembered how Thorondor had asked if Gwaine was scared of him. How there had been a faint plea in Thorondor's voice and on his face.

Gwaine smiled; he was being foolish. Thorondor was still his brother, no matter what.

He stood and paced the room. He wanted to go and talk to Thorondor, but he was still confined to his quarters.

A squawk caught his attention. He turned to see Deor, peering in at him through the window.

Gwaine grinned.

II II II

Thorondor had spent his time in confinement mostly brooding. He had remembered the gazes of the very people he had saved.

He remembered the fear in their gaze.

It had left a sick feeling in his heart, especially when he remembered the fear on Gwaine's face.

Gwaine and Firiel were the two most important people in Thorondor's life; the thought of causing either one of them to fear him…it was too much to bear.

"Thor."

Thorondor started and looked around. There was no one in his room.

"Over here, pup."

Thorondor turned towards the window of his quarters and saw Gwaine just outside, waving at him.

"Gwaine, what...how?" asked Thorondor as he made his way to the window. He saw that Gwaine was standing Deor's back, who in turn was perched on a rock outcropping below the window, keeping still to avoid upsetting Gwaine's balance.

"Good thing I'm still small enough to slip through the windows," said Gwaine jokingly.

"We're supposed to be in confinement," Thorondor chided, though his smile had brightened.

"Yes, well, we've never been much for following rules," retorted Gwaine. "Let's not waste time arguing about it. How have you been?"

Thorondor shrugged. "Well, I suppose. I've had a lot of time to think about what had happened."

Gwaine looked closely at Thorondor. "Do you feel bad about what had happened?"

Thorondor looked away. "No. They would have killed mother and everyone else. I don't regret killing them at all."

"Good, because you shouldn't."

When Thorondor turned to look at him, surprise evident on his face, Gwaine quickly continued.

"You protected our people by killing the raiders didn't you?"

"_We_ protected our people," corrected Thorondor. He paused, looking a little uncertain. "But they were afraid of me._ You_ were afraid of me."

"By the Storm, Thor, of course we were!" said Gwaine. "You fought like a monster! You fought with such brutality that would've had Master Adalgrim pissing himself."

While Gwaine spoke, Thorondor had looked away, his smile growing smaller and smaller.

"But it doesn't matter," said Gwaine softly. "Because at the end of the day, it was because you wanted to protect our people. _That_ is what matters. Not the way you fought, by _why_ you fought."

Thorondor looked up at Gwaine, and there was a hint of tears in his eyes.

"Really?" asked Thorondor softly, and Gwaine suddenly realised how lonely it must be to be in Thorondor's place; to be so different from everyone else, whether physical, mental or even the scale of brutality. He realised that the approval of people around him was what made Thorondor feel accepted; that he _belonged_.

"Of course," said Gwaine, smiling. "It doesn't matter if you're a giant or that you fight like a daemon when you're mad. You'll always be my foolish little brother."

Thorondor smiled gratefully as he reached over to clasp Gwaine's hands.

II II II

Several meters away, from a platform opened to the sky, Torwald had watched the exchange. He couldn't hear what was being said over the roar of the sea and the rumble of the Storm, but he instinctively knew that it was something he should let be, even though he knew he should really have punished Gwaine.

He knew that something had happened at Left Peak that had strained the relationship between Thorondor and Gwaine, and whatever was happening below would most likely address that.

_Our brotherhood is all we have in the face of the Unending Storm_, was what he said to them when they had first arrived.

He was glad to see that they have learned the lesson well.

Beside him, Tor nibbled at his ear and chirped questioningly.

Torwald turned away and walked back into the tunnel leading back into the Roost.

"Let them be," he said more to himself than to his Storm Eagle.

Tor cocked his head, and took the sky.


	7. A Dream Beneath the Storm

Primarch II's story continues, I apologise for the slight delay. I hope you enjoy this.

On another note, I haven't been placing the chapter names in the story so far. That starts with this chapter.

* * *

**A Dream Beneath the Storm**

Tempestas was not a unified world. Each eyrie was its own nation, and each settlement its own community. As such, each looked out for its own interests. Alliances between eyries may form from time to time, only to swiftly break down the moment it suited one or the other. Eyrie betraying eyrie were common occurrences, as were the small wars that broke out between individual eyries. The ones who suffered the most during these events were always the people of the smaller settlements, which were unable to field their own armies, and were forced to protect themselves by allying themselves with an eyrie, which would cost them precious resources and manpower, and if the eyrie they were allied to lost, the consequences were far more horrific.

As with all things to do with war on Tempestas, the Storm Riders were the ones to profit the most. As such, it suited them to keep Tempestas in a constant state of conflict. Many of them were involved in the political intrigue to engineer or maintain war.

Such was the way of Tempestas since far beyond the memories of the eldest greybeard.

Until the rise of the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost.

Whenever a war would break out between eyries, they would send their Storm Riders to the settlements that would be drawn into the conflict and protect them. Out of gratitude, the people of the settlements would willingly provide food supplies and fresh recruits to the Iron Roost Storm Riders, greatly strengthening them and bolstering their numbers.

Given the widespread location of the settlements on Tempestas, the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost could only protect a limited amount of settlements and they were not always successful. But stories of their efforts were widespread, and won them support and numbers until their sphere of influence came to encompass the south-eastern region of the planet.

Under their guidance, the settlements improved their defences and the skill of their guards, until they could even hold off the Storm Riders from hostile eyries.

Uneasy at this development, a number of the larger eyries had banded together to end this threat; and under the combined efforts of the alliance, several of the settlements furthest away from the Iron Roost had fallen, and its people massacred.

In response the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost had mustered their forces and met the invaders. With the Thunder Bearer at their head, the invaders were soundly beaten back the Iron Roost Riders, and Torwald had declare that no longer should the people of Tempestas suffer at the greed of the eyrie Storm Riders, and the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost would see their tyranny end.

Threatened by this, more eyries had joined in the effort to annihilate the Iron Roost Storm Riders, but always, they were beaten back.

As the leader of the Iron Roost Storm Riders, Torwald had been hailed as its greatest hero, and rightly so. His prowess in battle, his leadership and his charisma had inspired countless others to join the cause of the Iron Roost.

But he was not the only one.

Among the many names of the great Storm Riders: Adalgrim the Rider of Wrath, Gunnar the Fearless, Bard the Windblade and many more were two young Storm Riders, who had risen to prominence and became known as the right and left arm of the Thunder Bearer.

Thorondor and Gwaine.

Both were great warriors and commanded their own armies in the battles against the eyrie Storm Riders and their victories were many. But beyond the battle, they had also succeeded in improving the lot of the people under the protection of the Iron Roost.

The ancient radio communication, always made difficult by the Eternal Storm, had been drastically improved due to innovations by Thorondor. Trade was more faster and more efficient thanks to Thorndor and Gwaine's improvements on the design of the aircrafts. Weaponry, tactics and even the limited agriculture available, all were greatly improved to the efforts of Thorondor and on a smaller scale, Gwaine.

Of the many heroes that have risen to prominence, Thorondor and Gwaine's names have risen far above them, rivalling even the Thunder Bearer. They had earned their own titles: Thorondor the Storm Lord and Gwaine the Lightning Rider.

Yet despite the advancements made, the Iron Roost Storm Riders have been on the defensive in battle, advancing very little beyond their borders. It was because they still did not have the numbers needed to go on the offensive without leaving their lands vulnerable. They were building their numbers.

This would continue for a decade.

II II II

Thorondor and Gwaine climbed the winding stairs leading up to the tallest tower of the Iron Roost. They had both been summoned by Torwald.

Though the invading eyries had been continuously repulsed for the last decade and morale was high throughout the settlements, in the Iron Roost, the mood was grim.

Though his strength and skill had not diminished, the Iron Roost Storm Riders could see the tell-tale signs of Torwald's advancing age. Slowing reaction, the decreased stamina, the great weariness that he revealed only in private and the general decline in his health; and there was the fact that lately, Thorondor and Gwaine had been the ones to lead the Storm Riders into battle, not Torwald.

No one would say it, but everyone knew the truth.

The Thunder Bearer was dying.

He had already been old when he had first met Thorondor and Gwaine, but because of his presence and his undiminished fighting prowess, none had really noticed it until recently.

Not even Torwald could defeat Father Time.

Now that Thorondor and Gwaine, Torwald's most trusted lieutenants since the conflict began had been summoned to meet in private, many feared the worst.

II II II

Thorondor and Gwaine found Torwald sitting on rock on the platform at the highest point of the Iron Roost overlooking the sea. Tor stood on a higher outcropping, keeping watch over his partner silently.

The view was spectacular; the rough seas of Tempestas stretched out to the horizon, with numerous settlements and smaller landmasses dotting it. The Eternal Storm loomed above, though it was unusually tame that day, with pillars of weak sunlight streaming through parts of it.

Thorondor and Gwaine took up position on either side of Torwald, respectfully remaining silent, waiting to be addressed.

The Thunder Bearer said nothing for a long moment, silently gazing at the view. Finally he sighed.

"Truly, Tempestas is vast," he said. "In all my life, I've travelled to countless eyries, seen much of Tempestas...yet, I feel that I've only seen a tiny bit of what Tempestas has to offer."

Torwald leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yet, from what little I've seen, we're all the same people. We all live beneath the same Eternal Storm. We are all blessed by it. So why? Why do we insist on inflicting such misery upon each other? Why do the Storm Riders of the other eyries, who should be the protectors of our people, care only for profiting from their suffering? Why do they care only about exploiting the very people they should protect?"

Thorondor and Gwaine listened, captivated by the passion they heard in Torwald's voice. They could feel his love for Tempestas and her people.

"I'm old; I can feel my time approaching..."

"No, Master," said Gwaine softly.

"Please don't joke about such things, Master Torwald," said Thorondor with a sad smile. "We would all be lost without you."

Torwald chuckled, which ended in a series of harsh coughs. "No, you wouldn't. The Iron Roost will be fine when I'm gone. I have lived long and seen much; I am certain of this. I am certain because of you two."

"Master..."

"This will be my final command to you, Thorondor. Gwaine, you shall be witness to this," said Torwald, turning to face them at last. Every single year of his life seemed to be etched on his face, but his eyes blazed with determination.

"When I die, you shall lead the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost, Thorondor."

Thorondor and Gwaine stared at Torwald silently for a long moment. At last, Thorondor knelt before the Thunder Bearer. Even kneeling, he was still taller than the sitting Torwald.

"Master, I fear my shoulders are not broad enough to bear this burden..."

"There is no one more worthy, my lad," said Torwald firmly. "I have spoken to other elder Riders, and they have all agreed."

Torwald coughed again before smiling. "Besides, you won't be alone. You have Gwaine. Alone, both of you are great, but together...ah...the possibilities are beyond my imagination."

"Master Torwald..."

"It is decided then," said Torwald in a voice that would brook no argument.

Torwald turned to gaze at the view. Thorondor and Gwaine both wanted to speak but it was clear that Torwald could not and would not be dissuaded. The Thunder Bearer smiled a little as he took in the view.

"Do you know what I dream when I sleep...no, even in my waking hours?" said Torwald softly. "I dream of our people, free from fear, strong and proud and supporting each other. I dream of the eyries at peace with each other, working together for the betterment of all. I dream of us, the Storm Riders, fulfilling our sacred duties as guardians to our people, not the glorified mercenaries we have become. I dream of us sacrificing our lives for the sake of our people, not for greed."

Torwald stood, the movement clearly paining him, but he stood proud and tall, looking up at the Eternal Storm rumbling above. A ray of sunlight, weakly penetrating the Storm, shone on Torwald, haloing him in grey light.

"I dream of us all, united beneath the Storm. Can you imagine it? Can you imagine such a thing?"

Torwald sat back down wearily. He raised a trembling fist to the sky, as though trying to grasp it. He smiled wearily to himself.

"If I just had twenty more years...I might have been able to grasp that dream."

Behind him, Gwaine had lowered his head, weeping silently as he listened to the Thunder Bearer's words.

Thorondor had closed his eyes and allowed a single tear to fall.

He swore to himself, to Torwald, to Tempestas that he would see the Thunder Bearer's dream come true. It would be his dream and the dream for all Tempestas.

Tor let out a cry that echoed throughout the Iron Roost.

II II II

Torwald the Thunder Bearer died a week later. He had died on the platform overlooking his favourite view from the peak of the Iron Roost.

Thorondor had succeded the him as the leader of the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost. His elevation had been met with great approval amidst the mourning.

Thorondor's first act had been to grant the Iron Roost Storm Riders a new name, a name they would carry into battle, through which they would shoulder Torwald's dream.

The Thunder Bearers.

His second act had been to declare the beginning of the War.

The war to unify all of Tempestas.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed that!

Just a few notes about this particular chapter...

The scene with Thorondor, Gwaine and the Thunder Bearer was actually inspired by a scene in a manga called _Kingdom_ by Yasuhisa Hara. You can find on any manga browser I think, the particular scene I'm talking about is in Chapter 45. It's a pretty good manga.

Until the next chapter then.


	8. Nightmare

I apologies, but for this chapter and the next, maybe more, we will leave behind Tempestas and Thorondor for awhile. But I assure you we will return to it soon.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Nightmare  
**

The nightmare always began the same way.

Rotting corpses, burning cities, devastated worlds would flash repeatedly one after the other. Then, visions of giants in armour marching through shattered cities, their heavy boots crunching on roads paved with the corpses of the young, the old, women and children.

And behind it all, a being of golden light, facing four entities whose shapes defy the mind, and tore the heart apart with terror.

And always, Hayreddin would wake at that point.

He would be breathing heavily as though he had just gone through a heavy exertion, beyond anything that he had ever done in his waking hours. He was trembling, and sick fear was clenching his heart.

But as always, the eventual sounds of his surroundings would trickle in, and his fear would slowly recede. He would get up from his cot, put on his tunic, bound his long hair back and exit the hut he shared with his parents.

XI XI XI

As always, when Hayreddin emerged from the hut, anyone who happened to be in the area at the time would find their gazes drawn to him.

He was only four, but already had the appearance of a beautiful youthful man. In a world full of olive and brown-skinned people, he stood out as having skin the colour of the pale sands of the desert that stretched out into the mainland. His hair was long, and a dark brown colour, and despite that no one had ever seen him treating it, remained shiny and glossy at all times. Dark shining brown eyes greeted people as warmly as the smile from the full lips that adorned the perfect face. Despite his height, he never seemed to diminish those around him; instead he seemed to bring out the best in them. And he was strong too; despite his slender and elegant build.

Hayreddin had always felt uncomfortable at the stares. Most of them were of awe, but he could read the raw desire in some of them that scared him at times. He had already turned down countless advances from women and (to his great distress) not a few men as well.

As impossible as it seemed, he was simply unaware of how beautiful he was. He walked as quickly as he could to escape the stares, towards a fortress that extended down to the rocky beaches that lined the jagged cliffs that were ubiquitous on Baybar.

Nuba had grown from a small backwater village to a respectable trading port in the four years since Hayreddin's arrival. Though he had often protested otherwise, much of the credit lay with him. He had grown swiftly, much to the wonder of his parents and the villagers, and his intelligence and wisdom had quickly outstripped the elders had tutored him.

It was Hayreddin who had proposed the building of a small, fortified wall across the natural, sandy 'ramp' the led up from the rocky coastlines. The jagged cliffs stretched for leagues in either direction, and the 'ramp' was the only natural path that led up the cliffs, making it ideal for traders to dock nearby so that they may bring their goods to the city of Kolumpu, which had no docks due to its location on the cliffs. Indeed, the village of Nuba had originally been founded by early traders as a sort of supply point for them before they moved on to the great city of Kolumpu.

Of course, the ramp had also been the ideal point from which to launch their attacks.

Hayreddin had advocated building the wall, and with his charisma, many of the villagers had agreed with him. They had toiled for months on end, with Hayreddin among them, and the wall had been finished, built from stone brought from nearby quarries. Hayreddin had then overseen the training for the villagers to man the wall, stating that 'walls were useless without men of courage to man them'.

It had been a tremendous success, pirate raid after pirate raid were repulsed by the people of Nuba, often with Hayreddin fighting alongside them. Eventually, the people of Nuba would no longer have to flee to the desert, instead many more of them joining the militia to fight off the pirates or being able to focus on more stable trades.

Whether foreseen by Hayreddin or not, the safety provided by the strong defences of Nuba had also attracted traders, craftsmen and so forth from other cities. Nuba would flourish and expand as a trading point for many cities along the coastlines. The wall had been developed further into a fortress, and the people of Nuba, despite Hayreddin's embarrassed protests, had named it Hayreddin's Wall.

XI XI XI

Hayreddin walked along the path leading towards his hut, humming contentedly. It had been a productive day; he had secured more trade agreements for Nuba and had finally been able to distribute the new armour and weapons for the fortress guards.

Night had fallen and the moons of Nuba had come out, giving his pale skin an ethereal glow. He increased his pace, eager to reach home to talk to his parents.

Many of Nuba's people had wanted to build Hayreddin a lavish home for everything he had done, but he had refused, insisting that the hut he and his parents shared were more than enough. He smiled as he thought of the meal that his mother, Ani would no doubt be preparing.

"Boy."

Hayreddin's smile vanished instantly when he heard the familiar voice. Sighing inwardly, he turned to see Beduin, the old spirit-speaker. The old man had a scowl on his face as always.

"Elder," greeted Hayreddin, inclining his head respectfully.

"Have you offended the spirits further today?" spat the old man.

Hayreddin sighed.

Beduin had never liked Hayreddin; always claiming that he was an abomination. Where people had been awed by Hayreddin's rapid growth and maturity, Beduin had been horrified. When Hayreddin had proposed the building of the Wall, Beduin had been the loudest voice of opposition, claiming that such a thing was an offense to the spirits. There had been originally some people who had agreed with the spirit-speaker, but with Nuba flourishing since the building of the Wall, Beduin had found himself increasingly alone in his opposition to Hayreddin.

Hayreddin pitied the old man; everything Beduin had known was changing. He had once been the voice of authority, the source of strength and comfort whenever the pirate raids came. With the threat of the pirates gone, Beduin had been rendered obsolete, a voice constantly bleating of the spirits.

It always came down to the spirits for Beduin. Sometimes Hayreddin thought that the old man cared too much about what the absent spirits wanted as opposed to what the people of Nuba needed.

Quietly murmuring his goodbyes, Hayreddin turned and left, leaving the old man fuming behind him.

All thoughts of angry old men and spirits vanished from Hayreddin's mind when he arrived at his hut and found his mother turning a haunch of meat over the fire outside and his father Babar sitting beside it, puffing away from his pipe.

"There you are, boy," boomed Babar. "If you had been a little longer, we would have started without you!"

"My apologies, _Atta_," said Hayreddin, smiling as he sat down beside the fire, folding his legs neatly beneath him.

"What took you so long, love?" asked Ani as she cut a piece of meat for Babar.

"The meeting at the fortress took longer than I thought it would, _Um_," answered Hayreddin. "And I ran into elder Beduin on the way back."

"Has the old fool been bothering you again?" growled Babar.

Hayreddin shook his head, smiling. "Things are just changing too much for him I suppose."

"Hmph," snorted Babar. "That they are, and for the better I might add. The old man should just learn to enjoy it and stop worrying about what the spirits want. I tell you, if the spirits were angry, things wouldn't be this good!"

Hayreddin smiled. He didn't really believe in the spirits, but out of respect to his mother and father, he had never voiced such thoughts aloud.

In any case, it didn't matter to him, as long his family and the people of Nuba were safe and happy.

But always, the nightmare would be nagging at the back of his mind, whispering, unsettling him. Always it would whisper in Beduin's angry voice.

* * *

I hoped you liked that. I felt it was time for Primarch XI to makes his appearance...I'm sorry if I disappointed anyway who was hoping for an account of the Unification War of Tempestas. But I will get to that in part eventually, I promise.


	9. Departure

Primarch XI's story continues...

* * *

**Departure**

Hayreddin was at the Wall, sitting at the top of one of the towers overlooking the shining blue ocean. It was a breathtaking view, but at that moment, Hayreddin was far too busy poring over message scrolls to see it.

Sitting with him and helping him sort out the scrolls was a young woman and keeping guard was a hulking grim-faced warrior. The woman was an olive-skinned, dark-haired and slender beauty typical of many unmarried women in Nuba.

"Most of these the usual stuff," she said dismissively, pushing aside a stack of papers. "Permit requests and the like. Nothing you need to bother your pretty little head over."

Hayreddin smiled. "Thank you, Isan."

Hayreddin liked Isan, she didn't let his overwhelming charisma and presence cow her, and she had a sharp mind that he had found extremely helpful. Her wit too, was very entertaining, usually making jokes and comments on how upset she was that Hayreddin was prettier than her.

Hayreddin chuckled a little at the thought.

The hulking warrior, Ravenna, was a man who had decades of experience in battle. He had been part of a security escort for trade caravans before he had agreed to Hayreddin's request to stay in Nuba to help organise and improve its security. He was a taciturn man with a scarred, craggy face who rarely spoke unless necessary, but his experience had been invaluable.

Hayreddin put away the last scroll and stood, easily towering over the two, though Ravenna was still larger in girth. Hayreddin turned to face the sea, enjoying the view and the breeze that blew his long hair back.

"Well, I suppose that's all for today then," said Hayreddin.

"Not quite," interrupted Ravenna, his voice a low rasp. He fished around his tunic and brought out another message scroll.

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" demanded Isan as Hayreddin took the scroll from Ravenna.

"This one came late," snapped Ravenna. "And you just kept gabbing away; I couldn't get a single word in."

Isan stuck her tongue out at the scowling man while Hayreddin shook his head, smiling as he read the scroll.

His smile slowly vanished as he read the contents of the scroll. He looked up when he was done, frowning.

"What's wrong, Hayreddin?" asked Isan at once.

"This message is from the city of Ain," said Hayreddin. "Their trade caravans have been repeatedly attacked by the desert tribes since their leader offended the elders of the tribes. They've asked me to come and help them settle the conflict."

"Ain?" echoed Ravenna. "That's a few weeks south of here. The city's built around a major oasis, so it's a valuable stop for travellers and traders."

"Your name's known all the way out there now," remarked Isan, looking impressed. "Though probably more about your looks than anything else."

"Please, Isan," chided Hayreddin. The woman raised her hands apologetically.

Hayreddin folded his arms, thinking. "Ain is a major city, so they would have a well equipped army to handle the desert tribes, wouldn't they? Why do they need my help?"

"The army can only protect the city," answered Ravenna. "The desert tribes fight like daemons, and they are peerless at desert warfare. Any army that goes after them would be picked apart piece by piece if the desert doesn't kill them first."

"Sounds like good people to have on your side," commented Hayreddin. "Why would the city leader get on their bad side?"

Ravenna shrugged. "Probably dispute over water supply. It happens in the desert; water's far more valuable than gold."

Hayreddin nodded, thinking it over. "I'm really not sure what I can actually do to resolve this issue."

"If I may, Hayreddin?" asked Ravenna. Hayreddin indicated him to continue. "We have plenty of capable warriors here in Nuba now. We can take a significant number and Nuba would still be well defended from any pirate raid. We could take a sizable number...a small army, if you will, and help put down the desert tribes."

"But you said the desert tribes are deadly and peerless in desert warfare," pointed out Hayreddin.

"So I did," agreed Ravenna. "But I have spent many years fighting them; I know their ways and our men are well trained. I believe I can defeat them. That would give us opportunities for better trade with Ain."

Hayreddin pursed his lips. He disliked conflict and would rather avoid such approaches. He would have even negotiated with the pirates if they had been more reasonable.

"Is there any other way?" he asked.

"Well..." Ravenna hesitated, clearly knowing that Hayreddin wouldn't particularly like the suggestion. "We could use a show of force to threaten the leader of Ain to hold a truce with the desert tribes."

"And if the leader of Ain decides to fight back?" retorted Hayreddin. "Wouldn't _we_ be forced to attack Ain?"

"Yes, and the desert tribes would no doubt use that opportunity to join us in the attack," answered Ravenna, keeping his face and voice neutral. "That'll put us in their good books, and we'd have access to the deadliest warriors in the desert to recruit into our ranks."

Hayreddin's frown was more than enough for Ravenna and Isan to know that he didn't think much the suggestion.

"Either way would cost many lives," muttered Hayreddin.

"Why must it be one or the other?" asked Isan.

Both men turned towards her.

"Why can't we have both?" she asked again. "Good trade agreements with Ain, as well as the goodwill of the desert tribes."

Ravenna snorted. "If things were always so easy..."

"I'm not saying they are," snapped Isan. "But we have _him_."

She was pointing at Hayreddin, who blinked in surprise. "If anyone can do it, it would be you."

"Now, now, don't make such outrageous..." protested Hayreddin, raising his hands.

"No, she may be right," interrupted Ravenna. "I'd have scoffed if it had been anyone else, but if it's you, it may just be possible."

"Aren't you both overestimating me?" cried Hayreddin.

"On the contrary, aren't you underestimating yourself?" countered Isan. "Look at what you did for Nuba."

Isan gestured out to the town, for a town it had become, stretching out from the viewpoint of the tower.

"In just four years, Hayreddin," said Isan. "This is what you have done in four years. In another four, Nuba would soon become a city in its own right. If you can do this, then you can talk Ain and the desert tribes into peace; which would benefit all of us."

"I didn't do this myself, Isan," said Hayreddin quietly. "I had help, and the people of Nuba had just as much to do with this development as I did."

"But it was you who got it started," said Isan. "Without you, things would have just stayed the same: we'd still be running into the desert from the pirate raids, we'd still be burning incense and seaweed for the protection of the spirits on Beduin's instructions. You are the driving force behind all this, Hayreddin."

"She's right," added Ravenna quietly. "You could pull this off for Ain, the desert tribes and Nuba. And we'd be there to help you."

Hayreddin looked out from the tower at Nuba, taking in the streets, the people walking along them, the new buildings that popped up among the older huts, and the new buildings that were being built. He saw the people of Nuba, happy and content, flourishing from their safety and the all the trade flowing into the town.

The future that was being built.

Hayreddin sighed. "You really have that much faith in me?"

"Of course we do," said Isan while Ravenna nodded.

"I'm still not so sure..." said Hayreddin.

"Oh just say yes already," snapped Isan, impatiently. "We all know how it'll turn out: you'll just bat your pretty eyelashes at them and they'll be tripping over their feet to do your bidding!"

Isan laughed and Hayreddin found himself grinning. Even Ravenna had a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Very well," said Hayreddin. "I'll go to Ain."

XI XI XI

"But you can't go!" cried Ani, aghast.

Hayreddin was leaning against the wall of the hut, munching on a piece of dried fruit.

"I have to _Um_," answered Hayreddin gently. "The possible benefits to Nuba…it's too good to pass up."

"But to go to Ain…you'd have to cross the desert for several weeks! What if you get lost? If the bandits and beasts don't get you then the desert will!"

"Ravenna is coming with me _Um_," said Hayreddin. "He knows the way to Ain, and I've studied the maps; we'll travel from waterhole to waterhole. We'll also have some of the best warriors from the Wall. We'll be fine."

"But where there's water, that's where the beasts will be!" cried Ani. "Giant serpents, scorpions…or spirits forbid, the terrible Biwaks! Oh, to think that my son had come to me from the heavens only to end up as a rotting carcass between a Biwak's teeth or to be picked clean by the vultures!"

Hayreddin sighed outwardly, but his heart swelled with happiness at the love and slightly irritating overprotectiveness, shown by his mother.

Babar snorted. "Please, woman. Hayreddin is a man! He's not a daughter to be cosseted just because the weather's a little hot!"

"How could you say that!" snapped Ani, rounding on Babar. "He might look like a man, but don't forget that's he's only four, you heartless man! And it doesn't matter if he's four or forty! I still wouldn't let him go! He's too delicate for such dangerous nonsense!"

"There you go again! Coddling the boy! Foolish woman…"

"You watch your tongue, or better yet, choke on it!"

Hayreddin smiled as he watched his parents bicker back and forth. Such a scene was common in his home and though intense, there was hardly ever any real malice in it. In any case, his mind was made up. He would go to Ain for Nuba's sake.

In front of him, Ani was brandishing a spoon at Babar like sword.

Hayreddin chuckled. He would miss all the drama at home though.

XI XI XI

Several days later, Hayreddin and his party were ready to leave. They had gathered at Nuba's southern entrance, loading the huge camels with supplies.

Hayreddin said his goodbyes to his parents as a large crowd had come to see them off.

"Remember, preserve your food and drink," said Babar, clasping his son's forearm. "Cover as much ground as possible. I know you've estimated how long it will take you to get there, but the desert has a nasty habit of throwing estimates off."

"Of course, _Atta_," answered Hayreddin, clasping his father's hands and bending down to touch his forehead to them.

Babar nodded and ruffled Hayreddin's hair affectionately. Hayreddin turned to Ani.

"Remember to keep your skin covered from the sun…" began Ani.

"I will, _Um_," answered Hayreddin.

"Make sure you use the thick blankets; it gets murderously cold at night…"

"Of course, _Um_."

"Make sure you use the ointment I slipped into your backpack; if you're preserving water your lips will start to crack. The ointment will help…"

"I will, _Um_."

"I made some cookies too; you'll find them in a jar in your backpack…"

Beside her, Babar was shaking his head in amusement. Ravenna stared on impassively while Isan was stifling her laughter.

When Ani finally finished, she embraced her son. "Stay safe, love."

"Yes, _Um_," answered Hayreddin.

XI XI XI

Hayreddin's party departed, waving goodbye to the crowd that had gathered around the entrance. Hayreddin's superb vision could make out Ani, crying into Babar's shoulder.

His heart constricted a little at the sight and he turned away.

"Can I ask you a question, Hayreddin?" asked Isan, who was riding to his left.

Hayreddin looked at her questioningly.

Isan couldn't stop the grin from showing on her face. "Do you need me to sing you lullabies before you sleep?"

Hayreddin flushed, embarrassed as Isan cackled wickedly.

"Hayreddin?" said Ravenna.

"Yes, Ravenna?" answered Hayreddin quickly, glad to be distracted from Isan's jibes.

"Do you need me to tuck you in at night?" deadpanned Ravenna.

Isan and the other warriors laughed loudly at that while Hayreddin looked away from them, keeping his eyes firmly on the horizon, his cheeks burning bright red.

"Shut up," he muttered, spurring his camel on.

XI XI XI

Back in Nuba, watching from a section of the high wall that lined the southern side of Nuba, was Beduin. The old spirit-speaker held burnt black feathers that had belonged to a raven in his hands. Muttering in the ancient language used to speak to the spirits, he raised them to his mouth and blew them in the direction of Hayreddin's departing party.

"May the desert kill you, like Babar and Ani should have," whispered Beduin, hatred lacing his voice.


	10. Journey through the Desert

Primarch XI's story continues, I apologise for the delay...I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**Journey through the Desert  
**

Ravenna had seen many things, fought countless different foes, and been in just about every life-and-death situation possible on Baybar. His experiences had hardened him; he was a man who believed in only the strength of a man's arm and will.

From his experience, he had expected such as delicate-looking young man like Hayreddin to be unable to face the hardships of the desert, and had resigned himself to having to look after him during their long journey to Ain.

But Hayreddin had astounded him.

Not only was Hayreddin able to face the harshness of the desert, he endured it better than even the hardiest of the warriors escorting them.

No, endure was too mild a word.

Hayreddin seemed completely unaffected by the desert.

Where the others were laboured in their breathing, panting like exhausted dogs, their faces red from the heat and their shoulders slumped as they rode their camels; Hayreddin rode on, his back straight, his head held high and his disposition as cheerful as ever.

Frankly, Ravenna found it infuriating.

So even as the heat beat down on him so hard that he felt as though he wanted to tear his skin off just so he could escape it, Ravenna remained stoically silent, refusing to show weakness in front of the 'delicate pretty one' as Isan was fond of calling Hayreddin.

It wasn't easy.

"Are you alright, Ravenna?" inquired Hayreddin, looking back at him with such genuine concern that Ravenna wanted to hit him. "You look a little tense."

"Fine," answered Ravenna tersely, forcing his voice to sound as normal as possible.

Hayreddin didn't look convinced, but didn't press the issue.

"The next waterhole is nearby!" Hayreddin called out. "Hang in there, everyone! You're all doing very well! Soon we'll be able to stop for a drink!"

Whether it was Hayreddin's encouragement or the thought of water or a combination of both, everyone, including Ravenna, found themselves straightening up with renewed determination to make it at least to the next waterhole.

After another half hour or so of riding, the waterhole finally came within sight; it was a small oasis, with several towering palm trees and a large pool of clear water. Hayreddin's party gratefully stopped to rest.

Most of the men simply threw themselves face-first into the water, and if he was honest with himself, Ravenna wanted to do the same, but he refused to demean himself, and instead filled his water flask and drank from it.

As he drank, he looked around at the party; they were only ten men, including Ravenna and Hayreddin and one woman. At first, Ravenna had been a little upset that Hayreddin had decided not to travel with a small army as Ravenna had originally suggested, but after three weeks of hard travel through the desert, he had to admit it was a good thing after all; it would have made travelling a lot slower.

Despite the shade provided by the trees, the heat still felt unbearable to Ravenna, and he felt a little light-headed. He cursed his aging body.

"Must be a real blow to your manliness," came Isan's cackling voice.

Ravenna whirled around to scowl at the young woman sitting on a rock beside him. Isan looked as bad as Ravenna felt, but for some bizarre, demented reason Ravenna couldn't even begin to fathom, she was grinning widely at him.

"What are you talking about, girl?" he growled.

"To see delicate Hayreddin handling all this hot weather better than you and all these so-called 'manly men' here," answered Isan, snickering a little.

"I don't know what you're talking about," snapped Ravenna.

"You can't fool me, old man," said Isan, chuckling with amusement. "I can see the heat's getting to you, despite your so-called decades of experience travelling the desert, while Hayreddin's still sitting pretty."

Isan leaned closer, smirking. "That and the fact that all you 'manly men' had your arses handed to you by Hayreddin in the sparring matches."

Ravenna growled. "You know, you should take a look in the water and study your face. You'll see something on it that flaps incessantly, making a lot of noise. That thing's the reason you're still unmarried."

Isan laughed loudly.

During the three weeks of travel, Hayreddin had approached Ravenna and asked him to teach him to fight. At first, Ravenna and the other men had been amused, thinking that such a delicate-looking youth like Hayreddin would surely be unsuited for such a thing. But as Ravenna had underestimated Hayreddin's endurance, so he had also underestimated Hayreddin's potential as a warrior.

Hayreddin was a natural. He seemed to absorb every technique and skill that Ravenna taught him and mastered them overnight. During the sparring, Hayreddin had been able to hold his own against Ravenna in the first week, and he had bested Ravenna by the second week. By the third week, he had completed surpassed Ravenna and every other warrior in the travelling party. Ravenna was the only one who could last longer than a minute against Hayreddin before being beaten.

It was as Isan had said, a blow to his pride.

Cursing under his breath, Ravenna splashed his face with water in attempt to cool himself. It helped a little, but his head still felt a little light.

"Ravenna?"

Ravenna turned and saw Hayreddin holding a wooden sword in one hand, offering another one with the other.

"Would you do me the honour?" asked Hayreddin with a smile.

Though he had surpassed Ravenna and the other warriors, Hayreddin still sparred with them, especially Ravenna, so that he could keep learning something new each time. Had it been anyone else, it would have seemed patronising, but with Hayreddin, it had been an honest compliment that had made everyone's hearts swell with pride. Even Ravenna was not completely immune to it.

Now though, with his body battered and his light-headedness, Ravenna knew that there was no way he could last a minute against Hayreddin. But stubborn pride made him nod and take the sword. In his peripheral view, he could see Isan shaking her head with both amusement and exasperation.

Sure enough, it hadn't been five seconds into the bout when Ravenna found himself flat on his back with his chest stinging from where Hayreddin had struck him.

"Ravenna!" cried Hayreddin, rushing forward to Ravenna's side. "I'm so sorry! But...what?"

Isan and the other warriors who had been watching moved to Ravenna's side. Isan felt Ravenna's forehead and nodded.

"The heat's got to the stubborn old goat," she said. "He'll need to rest in the shade and drink lots of water."

Hayreddin nodded. "Alright, we'll rest here for the night..."

"No need."

Everyone looked down at Ravenna, who struggled up into a sitting position. "I can still go for today."

When no one reacted to his words, Ravenna snarled weakly. "What are you all standing around for? Go get ready! We'll move out in ten!"

"Ravenna, you old bastard," snapped Isan. "You're not going anywhere in this condition! Now be good and go sit under a tree and rest..."

"Hold your tongue, woman," growled Ravenna. "I'm not some delicate flower. I can go on. If we move out now, we can get to the next waterhole by nightfall..."

"You're right, Ravenna," said Hayreddin quietly. "But I think the men might be too tired to go on...and in truth, so am I."

Everyone turned to Hayreddin with a look a disbelief; if anything, he was the only one in the party who did not look remotely tired. Hayreddin shot them a charming smile.

"I did my best to keep up with all of you for the last three weeks," continued Hayreddin, lowering his head as though ashamed. "But I think I'm at my limit now...I'm so sorry to hold everyone up like this...but if it's not too much to ask, could we rest here for the night?"

As mentioned with his fighting prowess before, if it had come from anyone else, it may have been considered a patronising insult, but with Hayreddin, it sounded so sincere that all of them readily agreed with him. Even Ravenna agreed despite knowing that Hayreddin was bluffing for _his_ sake.

Isan poked Hayreddin in the ribs. "Sweet talker."

Hayreddin smiled at her innocently.

XI XI XI

When night came, the temperature of the desert plummeted from murderously hot to murderously cold. The party huddled around fires and wrapped themselves up in woollen blankets to keep warm.

Ravenna wrapped his own blanket more snugly as he settled down against a tree, his camel seated beside him, keeping him adequately warm. He looked up to the night sky, where the stars shone brightly.

Ravenna had not been in Nuba when Hayreddin had arrived, but he had heard the stories of how the boy had fallen from the heavens like a blessing as most of the people of Nuba had declared. However, he knew among the older inhabitants, especially the bad-tempered, seaweed smoking spirit-speaker Beduin, had seen Hayreddin as a curse.

In a way, Ravenna understood where they were coming from. In the village of his birth, with the bandit raids, the sandstorms and the long periods of drought, resources had been scarce even at the best of times. Infants born during the drought season had often been killed so that they would not have to suffer the droughts that would eventually kill them anyway. Infants who were deformed to such a degree that they would not be able to contribute to the community had also been killed, as were the crippled and the old. Very few lived past their forties.

Ravenna knew had Hayreddin arrived in a place like his village, they would have not only killed him, but they would have burned down their own village and scorched the earth to remove such all traces of a 'curse' before moving on to a different location.

Ravenna shook his head, superstition was a dangerous thing.

But he wondered at times if Hayreddin could have changed them. Hayreddin had a gift for moving people, whether it was with a gentle smile or a kind word, he moved the hearts of the people around him. Ravenna knew the main reason the older, more superstitious inhabitants had remained opposed to Hayreddin mostly because they kept their distance from him, cursing him from afar.

If only they opened their minds and hearts just a little...

Ravenna scowled to himself; he had become more idealistic since he settled in Nuba, no doubt due to Hayreddin's influence.

"Ah, that hideous scowl on your face, you must be feeling much better, you stubborn old goat," came Isan's cackling voice.

Ravenna turned his scowl towards the pretty young woman. He had always thought her as one of the prettiest, nay, most beautiful young women he had ever met, though he found it slightly disturbing that he still found her beauty paling in comparison to Hayreddin's.

The only problem was her mouth; always flapping, always gabbing, making endless noises like a bleating goat.

Isan sat down beside him, offering him a basket of dried fruit. He nodded his thanks and took some.

"Hayreddin eaten, yet?" he asked as he munched on the fruit.

"Yes, yes," answered Isan. She smirked at him. "It's touching; the amount of concern you show for him."

Ravenna snorted. "Well, he's the whole reason we're doing this in the first place. We need him to talk to both Ain and the desert tribes into peace, remember?"

"Excuses, excuses," retorted Isan, her eyes twinkling.

"Where is he, anyway?" asked Ravenna, ignoring her teasing.

Isan looked around before pointing over at a sand dune overlooking the waterhole. Hayreddin stood at the top of it, looking out at the desert. He had wrapped himself in a blanket which flapped around him like a cape, and his long hair billowed out behind him in the night wind.

Even from a distance, his sheer awe-inspiring presence could be felt.

"Magnificent, isn't he?" Isan commented, sighing dreamily. "If only all men were like that..."

"If all men were like that, we'd have no need for women," answered Ravenna, snorting with amusement when Isan punched him on the shoulder in response.

"There's nothing wrong with a man being pretty," replied Isan before grinning wickedly. "Besides, he's manlier than the lot of you. He hasn't collapsed under the heat, and he's not the one who landed flat on his arse five minutes into a sparring match."

Ravenna cursed under his breath as Isan giggled.

XI XI XI

Even from the distance, Hayreddin could hear Isan and Ravenna's conversation. He shook his head with amusement before turning his gaze up to the stars. His face turned solemn.

He had often heard from his parents and the villagers about how he 'fell' from the heavens...from the stars. When he had been younger, he had thought it was some sort of metaphor. But when he realised it had been literal, he wondered if there were others like him. Had they also fallen elsewhere on Baybar?

Were they like him?

Hayreddin had always been acutely aware of how people reacted to his presence. Many of them reacted with awe, like with many of Nuba's inhabitants or with fear and repulsion like Beduin and some of the more superstitious bunch. Either way, it had always served to make him more aware of how different he was.

At times, he found it lonely.

Which was why he treasured his parents, Ravenna and Isan so much. Rather than making him feel as though he was on a pedestal or something repulsive, they made him feel as though he _belonged_. It kept the loneliness at bay.

Still, every time he looked to the stars, he still wondered if there were others like him, if they fell from the stars too, if they had their own families and friends.

As Hayreddin stared up at the night sky, taking in the shining stars, a vision flashed in his mind.

A being enshrouded in golden light, staring down at him with eyes that blazed like the sun.

Hayreddin shook his head violently, trying to clear his mind.

His nightmares and visions were always of the same being...or man...but something far beyond that rudimentary word.

"Who are you?" whispered Hayreddin.


	11. Bloodlust

My apologies for the delay...I struggled a little with this chapter.

* * *

**Bloodlust**

On the day before they finally reached Ain, the relative uneventfulness of their journey came to an end.

Hayreddin's spectacular eyesight could already make out the city, built to the south of a huge oasis and surrounded by mudbrick walls. Within the walls, Hayreddin could make out numerous buildings made from the same material; likely the residential areas for the elites and soldiers of Ain. Outside the walls were many huts and tents; quite possibly housing the less affluent inhabitants of Ain or travellers.

While Hayreddin could make out all the details from the great distance, to the rest of the party however, Ain was still a vague form in the desert horizon. The only feature they could spot with clarity was the huge waterhole, glittering like sapphire in the sunlight.

"We'll be there by sundown, I should think," said Hayreddin to Ravenna, smiling.

Ravenna nodded curtly. "If we pick up the pace, we can get there sooner."

"Now, now, no need to be so hasty," said Hayreddin chidingly. "Sundown is fine; we can have a night's rest before dealing with Ain's elders."

"None too keen, I take it?" asked Isan, who was riding just behind Hayreddin.

Hayreddin shrugged. "It'll come down to politics, I just know it. So we should get some rest before dealing with all that nonsense."

Ravenna grunted in agreement.

They rode on, their spirits high at the thought of the end of journey when a sand dune nearby erupted. A great lizard-like beast, at least forty feet long and armoured in sand-coloured scales burst forth from the sands, its maw wide open, revealing teeth the length of swords.

It fell right on the party, which scattered before it quickly, but it snapped up an unfortunate camel; one of the ones carrying the travel supplies, and chewed it eagerly, the camel's blood spurting out in shocking torrents of red.

"Biwak!" roared Ravenna.

Several of the men had already drawn their spears and swords.

"Put those away!" snarled Ravenna at them. "Those aren't going to be able to cut the damned thing's armour. Ride! Ride for Ain!"

They broke away while the beast swallowed down the luckless camel, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the beast.

Grunting, the Biwak pursued them; despite its massive bulk, it was fast. It quickly caught another pack camel and slowed to chew it down before pursuing again, quickly catching another one.

Isan was well and truly terrified. She clung to her camel, bouncing up and down with the beast's movement. Her camel grunted and panted with terror, desperately running as fast as possible. Camels were not built for speed; they were valued for their endurance and resistance to the adverse weather of the desert. Against fast beasts like a Biwak, a camel would have to be very lucky to escape.

A particularly bad bounce had Isan tumbling from her camel and to the ground. The sand cushioned her fall, but she was stunned by the fall. Even as she tried to clear her head, the Biwak approached her, still chewing on the last camel it caught.

Ahead, Hayreddin and Ravenna had both seen Isan fall and had turned their camels around, riding as fast as they could to her.

"Isan!" yelled Hayreddin.

Recovering from her fall, Isan looked up in time to see the Biwak approaching, swallowing the camel as it did. It opened its bloody maw, the reek of death emanating from it nearly causing her to pass out. The Biwak came closer, preparing to pounce.

A roar came from behind Isan, surprising the Biwak, which jerked back a little.

A camel rushed past Isan, and Ravenna hurled himself from its back onto the Biwak's snout, sinking his curved sword into the soft flesh.

The Biwak rasped in pain, shaking its head vigorously, trying to throw Ravenna off, but the warrior held on, twisting the blade, making the Biwak rear up in pain.

Isan stood still, watching the whole scene as though in a dream. She finally snapped out of it when the Biwak finally managed to shake Ravenna off, sending him crashing down past Isan. She hurried to his side while the Biwak pawed at its snout, trying to get the sword out.

"Ravenna!" cried Isan, kneeling by Ravenna.

"Go on, girl!" growled Ravenna, sitting up gingerly. "Get out of here; I'll hold it off!"

"But..."

"Damn it, girl!" shouted Ravenna. "For once in your life, do as you're told! I'm trying to save you here!"

"No."

The two of them turned to see Hayreddin getting off his camel, sword in hand. He pulled the snorting beast forward and handed the reins to them.

"Get on, and ride as fast as you can to Ain. I'll hold the beast off."

"No, Hayreddin," cried Isan.

"Do as I say Isan," said Hayreddin with such uncharacteristic force and authority that Isan was unable to protest. "Take Ravenna and head to Ain. Hurry, there's no time!"

The Biwak's attempts to dislodge Ravenna's sword had only driven the blade in farther. Rasping and hissing in pain, the beast turned towards them, stalking forward menacingly.

Hayreddin strode forward to face it while Ravenna and Isan got onto the frightened camel.

"Hayreddin..." said Ravenna, looking back at the youth.

"Go." was all Hayreddin said, not turning around.

Snarling to himself, Ravenna urged the camel away towards Ain, Isan holding on to him tightly. Behind them, they could hear the Biwak charging forward and Hayreddin shouting at it.

Though they did not look back, the sound of the fight, as though a full scale battle was taking place behind them, played on their imagination. They imagined the beast tearing Hayreddin apart, swallowing him whole, dismembering him...

They rode on, Isan sobbing into Ravenna's back while he pushed the camel on with more force than necessary.

When they were far enough, Ravenna halted the camel and turned to look back, as did Isan.

All they could see was a great cloud of sand that had been kicked up, obscuring the view. They could see absolutely nothing of Hayreddin.

Isan clung tightly to Ravenna's arm trying to spot Hayreddin.

They stared at the sand cloud, waiting. Hoping.

Praying.

And both of them cried aloud when Hayreddin slowly emerged from the sand cloud, holding on to his sword.

"By the spirits!" cried Isan.

"He's alive…" breathed Ravenna, urging his mount forward to Hayreddin.

As they drew closer, they saw Hayreddin was covered in sand and blood from head to toe, and there was a slight sway to his walk as though drunk.

"Hayreddin!" cried Isan, getting off the camel and running to Hayreddin as soon as they were near enough. "Spirits…are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Hayreddin turned to her slowly, smiling in a bemused way. "I'm fine, Isan. Blood's up from the fight is all."

"Did you kill it?" asked Ravenna, getting off the camel.

Hayreddin blinked. "No. I stabbed it in the eye and it ran away."

Ravenna and Isan stared at Hayreddin, who still seemed to be behaving strangely. His eyes were glazed and he was still swaying slightly.

"Are you sure you're alright, Hayreddin?" asked Isan.

"I'm fine, Isan," answered Hayreddin, smiling. "Do you have something I can wipe myself with?"

Ravenna continued to watch Hayreddin with some concern as Isan hurried to get a cloth from one of the packs on the camel's back.

XI XI XI

Throughout his brief life, Hayreddin had always remained calm and collected, never losing his head, never letting his emotions get the best of him. It was why he was so good at negotiating; he never let his emotions get out of control. Even when he sparred with Ravenna and the others, it was the same; it was an analysis of his opponent; to predict, manipulate and counter every step.

But the battle with the Biwak had been different. There was no matching of wits; it had been a battle of pure instinct; acting and reacting against each other. Hayreddin's heart had been pumping, his senses had been sharper than normal, aware of every minute detaile; from the flying sand, the Biwak's movements, his own breathing and the sensation of the blood racing through his veins.

It had been exhilarating.

Hayreddin had felt _alive_; and it had felt right.

He had enjoyed the spray of blood when he sunk his sword into the Biwak's eyes; it had sent a rush through him that he still felt giddy from it.

Now that he was calming down though, he saw the looks on Isan and Ravenna's face.

They were frightened of him.

Hayreddin looked down at his hands, at the blood-stained sword in his hand and the cloth that Isan had given him; already soaking in blood.

He dropped the sword.

Hayreddin hated violence; he hated the necessity of it. He had never been involved in any of the battles against the pirate raids beyond providing tactical insight.

Now that he had tasted his first battle, he had found himself liking it. No, he had _loved _it.

He didn't want to.

"Come on," he said to Ravenna and Isan.

They spent the rest of their journey to Ain in silence. Hayreddin tried to put the thought of the battle with the Biwak from his mind and instead tried to focus on his plans for negotiations. The desert tribes were a proud warlike people; all too eager to draw the sword whenever possible. Negotiations would have to be handled carefully, or else a war could break out.

Hayreddin's heart stirred at the thought.

Startled, he quashed it. He didn't like the feeling at all…even though it felt good.

If described to Ravenna, he would've been able to give Hayreddin a name for it.

Bloodlust.

* * *

I'm not too pleased with this chapter to be honest...this particular chapter wasn't planned and it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. In any case, I've already dragged Primarch XI's story for far longer than I originally planned.

Again, my apologies for the delay with this chapter, I've started writing up my thesis so it's been a little bit of a struggle to write the story. I'll do my best to upload as regularly as possible.


	12. Faith

Really, I originally planned to write the intro to Primarch XI's story in three chapters...Primarch II was suppose to be back awhile ago...but I sort of lost control..=\, I've been wanting to get back to Tempestas for awhile now...

In any case I hope you enjoy this

* * *

**Faith  
**

Being one of the oldest and most important cities, Ain was far larger and more populous than Nuba. The city was divided into three parts: the inner city was where the wealthiest and the powerful lived, the outer city which was usually reserved for the merchants and craftsman and the out-walls, referring to ramshackle collection of huts and tents outside the walls of the city where the poorer inhabitants or travelling merchants stayed.

The inner city was a collection of tall mudbrick buildings, housing many spacious apartments for Ain's citizens and foreign ambassadors. Mansions made of marble and stone were also present, home to the wealthiest of the wealthy and the powerful, such as the elders of Nuba. The inner city was built in the shape of a circle, with a large square at its centre, where the only the wealthiest merchants who could afford a permit to trade there where they sold only the finest goods.

Hayreddin and his party were offered quarters at one of the stone mansions but they had declined and were instead quartered at one of the apartment complexes. Most of the warriors in his party had gone out to see the inner city, unused to such lavishness.

Hayreddin though, had stayed behind in order to meet the Elders of Ain, and as he waited, he was looking out from the apartment balcony over the outer city and the out-walls. They reminded him of Nuba.

"Hayreddin, the elders are here," came Ravenna's gruff voice from behind him.

Hayreddin nodded and returned to the apartment's main room, preparing himself receive the elders.

XI XI XI

There were four of them, each one well into his seventies. One was immensely fat, dressed in voluminous robes of rich purple with a gold chain around his neck and many rings around his fat fingers. Two of them were bowed with age, dressed in simple white robes and holding staves crafted from what Hayreddin knew to be a Biwak's bone. Despite their apparent frailty, their dark eyes glittered with confident intelligence. They looked so alike in a way only twin brothers could be.

The fourth stood tall, still unbowed by his age. He was dressed in black robes, and had a swaddle of cloth tied around his head. He had no walking stick, instead having a scimitar in a simple scabbard tucked into his belt. His dark eyes stared at Hayreddin from underneath bushy grey eyebrows and his grim lips were hidden behind a thick grey beard.

From his bearing, Hayreddin knew he was the leader.

The fourth strode forward, undaunted by Hayreddin's towering height.

"Greetings," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "I am Great Elder Nebud."

"I am Elder Abrah," rumbled the fat one.

"Elder Koza," said one of the bowed ones.

"Elder Kazo," said the other.

"On behalf of the citizens of Ain, I bid you and your companions welcome," said Nebud, inclining his head respectfully.

Hayreddin bowed before them respectfully, as tradition demanded he did before his elders.

"I thank you," he said. "You honour us with your presence, Elders."

Hayreddin smiled at them and the effect was almost instantaneous. Abrah and the twin elders found themselves coughing into their hands to hide the sudden flush in their faces, and while Nebud handled it better, he still had to look away for a moment from the dazzling smile. Either way, they were all clearly pleased by the courtesy shown to them.

"I thank you for coming all the way out here to help us settle our dispute with the desert tribes," replied Nebud.

Hayreddin nodded and indicated that they all sit. Ravenna stood in a corner of the room, as still as a statue, watching the proceedings intently while Isan came out from an adjoining room, serving tea to the elders. Once done, she backed away into a corner, her hands folder before her demurely, looking so like a quiet obedient girl that Hayreddin and Ravenna had to hide their amusement. In truth like Ravenna, Isan would quietly observe and listen for anything that might be of use later on.

"I apologise," said Nebud. "We invited you here and yet you are the one serving us tea."

Hayreddin smiled. "Please, it should be the young who serve the venerable elders. I apologise if the tea is terrible."

The Elders smiled and chuckled, pleased with Hayreddin's politeness. They spent several minutes sipping the tea while studying each other.

"Of the first thing," began Abrah, finishing his tea in a single gulp. "You are from Nuba, yes?"

"Yes, Elder," answered Hayreddin.

"This is Nuba, which was once the little village founded on the edge of the sea-cliffs?"

"The same, Elder," answered Hayreddin.

"Tell me, how is Beduin?" asked Abrah.

"You know of Elder Beduin?" asked Hayreddin, surprised.

Abrah smiled. "I was from Nuba. My family moved to Ain to escape the pirates. Beduin and I were friends, though I haven't seen him since."

"Elder Beduin is well," answered Hayreddin. "Though displeased with the changes in Nuba I fear."

"Ha! That sounds of like Beduin, right enough," boomed Abrah. "Always the traditionalist; too afraid of change and always worrying what the spirits want."

"So tell us, young one," asked Koza. "How did you achieve it?"

"Yes, we are most intrigued by how you did it," added Kazo.

"I beg your pardon, Elders?" asked Hayreddin politely.

"How did you change Nuba from a dying backwater to a prosperous town?" clarified Kazo.

"In just four years no less," added Koza.

Hayreddin smiled. "Respectfully Elders, Nuba was not dying. There was still strength in it; otherwise the pirates would have destroyed it long ago. I did nothing, I only helped the people of Nuba realise their strength and potential. The development in Nuba is not my doing, it is its people."

"Humble, this one," commented Kazo.

"Yes indeed," added Koza. "But since word of Nuba's development reached Ain and many other cities, your name, young Hayreddin, has always been part of it."

"Yes," said Kazo. "Clearly your role in Nuba's development is greater than you are willing to admit. Will you not tell us?"

"Yes, will you not?" inquired Koza.

"There is nothing I can tell you, Elders," answered Hayreddin, bowing his head respectfully. "I am honoured that you and the people of Nuba think so highly of me."

"We do," said Kazo. "A nameless man out of nowhere changes the fate of an impoverished village?"

"A most intriguing tale is it not?" added Koza. "We were curious to meet you since learning of your name."

"It is why we asked you to come to Ain," said Nebud. His eyes studied Hayreddin intently as he leaned back.

"Life in this land is harsh, even for those of us fortunate enough to be protected by the walls of Ain," said Nebud. "Those who live by the sea are threatened by pirates, while those who live in the desert are threatened by the weather, beasts and the constant war of the desert tribes. We have survived thus far because our lives have followed a particular pattern. Any sort of change to that pattern would be hard for the people to accept. The people of Nuba lived for many years running from the pirates, who always destroy their homes. And the people of Nuba come back and rebuild until the next the raid. It was an endless cycle, but no one thought to change that cycle."

Nebud gave Hayreddin a thoughtful look. "Until you came. Not only did you break the endless cycle, you changed things for the better. More importantly, you got the people of Nuba to embrace the change."

"I'm not sure I follow, Elder," said Hayreddin slowly.

"You got the people of Nuba to embrace the change," repeated Nebud. "Think hard on that. Our people do not take change well. In the village where I grew up, deformed children are drowned at birth, the deathly sick are killed out of mercy and to protect the rest of the village and above all, anyone who has different ideas on how things should be would be exiled and at times, even killed. But you succeeded; you made Nuba accept the change. Better yet, you got them involved in it. That is a miracle in itself, Hayreddin."

Abrah leaned forward. "For decades, Ain has always shared our most valuable resource, water, with five desert tribes: the Kaling, the Huraiz, the Kaganagh, the Battuta and the Sina. In return, they help protect our trade caravans. At the same time, we also trade various goods we have in return for the metals that they have access to."

"But over the last two years," added Kazo. "Rival tribes have come forward asking us; demanding actually, for access to our water."

"If these tribes were to share the same water source with the five allied to us," continued Koza. "They would end up fighting each other; war could break out on our very doorstep."

"The problem is, by refusing the other desert tribes access to our water, they might just decide to make war on us in order to get it anyway," said Abrah. "They have already threatened us a few times in the last two years."

"And if the rival tribes declare war on us," continued Nebud. "The five tribes allied to us would not sit idly by and they would no doubt fight as well. The loss of life and the scale of destruction could very well destroy Ain."

As Hayreddin listened to the situation, his heart sank. The situation was far direr than anything he had expected. Thousands of live hung in a balance on the decisions the Elders were asking him to make. Hayreddin was not sure he was prepared for such a burden.

"If I may, Elders?" he asked. "Why me? The four of you know far more about this area and the tribes than I do. I believe I am ill-suited for this task."

"But you see, Hayreddin, that's just it," said Nebud. "We know how these tribes work; because of that we can't see a way out of this. Our way of thinking has been shaped by our years of experience and thinking past that is as monumental a challenge as what we are facing."

Nebud leaned forward. "You though, you have a different perspective from us. You are not bound by our way of thinking. Perhaps you can see what we could not, despite your young age. Above all, you got the people of Nuba to accept change; you got _them_ to change. Perhaps you can do the same for us and the desert tribes. We would do the best we can to help you, of course."

Silence reigned in the room following Nebud's words. The Elders looked at Hayreddin, cautious hope on their faces. Hayreddin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, clearly in deep thought.

"I..." he began slowly. "I will need some time to think. I need to consult my companions. I apologise, Elders."

"Of course, of course," said Nebud, getting up. He walked forward and placed a hand on Hayreddin's shoulder.

"I am sorry that we have asked you to a shoulder such a terrible burden. Believe me when I say that if we could have solved this ourselves, we would not have asked you; we would not have placed such a burden on one so young. If you refuse, I understand. But we believe that you could help us, Hayreddin. Not just from what you've done for Nuba, but just from meeting you here...we believe."

As Nebud and the other Elders headed for the door, Nebud halted and turned to Hayreddin once more.

"Whatever you decide, I am glad to have met you, young Hayreddin," he said. "I hope we will have your answer soon."

XI XI XI

Hayreddin slumped back into his seat, mulling over what had just transpired. Ravenna and Isan sat down beside each other, facing him.

"I'm starting to think coming here was both a good and bad idea," remarked Hayreddin. He straightened up and looked at his friends. "Good because the situation here is pretty bad, and bad because I'm not sure if I can resolve it."

Hayreddin covered his face with his hands. "One wrong move, one misstep and thousands of lives will be lost. I don't know if I can do this."

"But if you do nothing, those lives will be lost anyway," answered Isan and Hayreddin cringed, knowing she was right.

"The Elders might still be able to solve it," hedged Hayreddin, but Ravenna shook his head.

"It's like they said, if they could, they wouldn't have asked you to come."

"But…can I do this?" repeated Hayreddin. "It was different with Nuba…I wanted to protect Nuba from the pirates…and everything just started changing from there. Here…I'm trying to stop a war from breaking out."

"You can, Hayreddin," said Isan gently.

"Can I? Can I?" cried Hayreddin angrily, frustrated at their misguided confidence in his abilities. "What makes you so sure? What makes you think I can do anything different from the Elders? What makes you think I have any right to make decisions that could affect thousands of lives?"

Isan was a little shaken by Hayreddin's uncharacteristic outburst, but Ravenna was undaunted.

"Because you already have."

That stopped Hayreddin short. "What?"

"You've been making such decisions for Nuba," said Ravenna. "When you proposed building the Wall, the traditionalists and superstitious were opposed to it and in most cases, they would have resorted to violence to stop you. But not only you prevented it from happening you converted many to your cause. When the Wall was finished, you effectively ended the old ways of Nuba; the people began looking to the future, not clinging to their traditions."

"I didn't mean to," said Hayreddin quietly.

"It doesn't matter, Hayreddin," answered Ravenna. "Your decision affected everyone. Every decision you have made since you changed Nuba has affected everyone. Not everyone agreed with you, but you did what you did because you believed it to be the right thing for everyone. That's what it means to lead. That's what matters. I believe you'll do the same here."

"You can do this, Hayreddin," said Isan. "If anyone can, it's you."

"But all those lives, depending on me…" whispered Hayreddin in anguish.

"After hearing of the situation, could you really just leave all this behind?" asked Isan.

Hayreddin was silent for a moment. The answer was obvious to him right from the start.

"No, I cannot," he said.

Hayreddin leaned back and looked at his friends, seeing the absolute confidence they had in him, the trust they had in him.

It was humbling.

"Why do you believe in me, when at times I don't?" Hayreddin asked.

"Because we have faith in you, Hayreddin," answered Isan, smiling. "After everything you've done for Nuba, for _us_, how could we not?"

Ravenna nodded curtly. "It's time you have faith in yourself."

Hayreddin bowed his head and he already knew what his answer to the Elders would be. It was no longer a matter of if he could help Ain. He _had _to.

His friends had faith in him, so he would to.

XI XI XI

Nebud was taking a stroll in compound of his mansion, his granddaughter hopping along beside him energetically, making him smile. In his compound were an assortment of cacti, palm and olive trees; the few plants capable of thriving in the desert.

He watched as his granddaughter ran to one of the olive trees and started leaping up to get at the fruits. His smiled turned to a frown.

He hoped to the spirits that war would not come to Ain. Seeing such innocence embodied in his granddaughter, he hoped dearly that he could protect her from the horrors that always came with war. He had seen too much of it in his long life.

"Master?"

Nebud turned to see one of his servants bowing respectfully to him.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Nebud.

"Master Hayreddin has come," answered the servant. "Shall I bring him here?"

Cautious hope flared in Nebud's heart. "Yes, of course! Be quick about it!"

Nebud gritted his teeth as he anxiously waited for Hayreddin. It took all his willpower not to run to the remarkable young man when Hayreddin arrived, led by his servant.

"Elder Nebud," greeted Hayreddin, bowing respectfully. "It is an honour to meet you again."

"Please, young one, you do me a great honour by coming here," answered Nebud, touching Hayreddin on the shoulder. "Have you decided then?"

Hayreddin straightened up and looked Nebud in the eye, his dark brown eyes shining with determination.

"Yes."

That one simple word was everything that Nebud could have hoped for.

Unknown to them, that moment would resonate far into Baybar's future.

* * *

Next chapter onwards, we will be returning to the stormy world of Tempestas and Primarch II...


	13. The Battle for the Storm Hold

Now we return to Tempestas and Primarch II's story...

In truth...this chapter was suppose to come up ages ago, but better late than never I suppose...

As always, I hope you enjoy this...

* * *

**The Battle for the Storm Hold**

The Storm Hold rose like a jagged wall from the seas of Tempestas; a menacing monolith. The eyrie was the bastion of one of the oldest and mightiest of the Storm Rider orders. It had weathered numerous assaults, both from the Eternal Storm and other Storm Riders, and it was widely believed that it would never fall.

Until the rise of the Thunder Bearers.

The Riders of the Storm Hold, led by a formidable veteran known as Ajuhal, had been among the earliest to oppose the Iron Roost Riders, back since the earliest days of Torwald himself. They had ever been at the forefront in the war against the Iron Roost, from the days of the Thunder Bearer's leadership, to the present, with Thorondor the Storm Lord.

But since the young Storm Rider had risen to the leadership of the Thunder Bearers, the Storm Hold Riders found themselves losing ground. Under Thorondor's leadership, the Thunder Bearers had fought with renewed ferocity and cunning. In addition to that, the various settlements allied to them had provided them with an army, which under Thorondor's guidance and leadership became a formidable organised army capable of taking on even the Storm Riders, greatly bolstering the Thunder Bearers' fighting force.

The Riders of the Storm Hold and their allies were pushed back as settlement after settlement rebelled and joined with the Thunder Bearers against them. Eyrie after eyrie had either fallen or surrendered to the Thunder Bearers and after nearly two decades of a long hard war, the Storm Riders of the Storm Hold were the last eyrie Storm Riders left.

II II II

The rain and lightning poured heavily on the massive rock formation where Thunder Bearers made their base camp. It was several hundred miles away from the Storm Hold, yet the eyrie still towered menacingly like an unmoving tsunami in the distance.

The other forces of the Thunder Bearers, both Storm Riders and non-Riders alike have made camp on the other rock islands or formations that faced the eyrie. Tempestas's weather had taken a more violent turn, forcing the Thunder Bearers to delay their attack until the weather improved.

Gwaine emerged from his tent, relishing the feel of water splattering down on his face and the sound of it pattering off his armour. Looking ahead, he saw a great shape standing near the edge of the cliff. Gwaine made his way to it.

Sure enough, before long, he found himself looking up at the towering majestic form of Garuda's back. The Storm Eagle turned to look at him with one menacing eye, and Gwaine found himself paralysed beneath its gaze. Even after fighting alongside Thorondor and by extension, Garuda for the last twenty years, Gwaine still found the titanic Storm Eagle terrifying at the best of times, and only dared to approach the Storm Eagle when Thorondor was around.

Gwaine could see Thorondor standing between the Storm Eagle's legs; his great formed looking miniscule when compared to Garuda's. Gwaine carefully made his way to Thorondor.

The Storm Lord had unbound his ebony hair, and it hung loose about his shoulders. His eyes were unreadable, like storm clouds obscuring his soul but to Gwaine, it was the smile that was the most striking difference. Twenty years of war had changed the smile into a grim one, and Gwaine could barely remember the last time he had seen Thorondor smile from simple joy.

Gwaine stood next to his best friend, his head now barely reaching past Thorondor's elbow. They both stared out at the Storm Hold, thinking of the battle to come.

"So I assume they've refused?" asked Thorondor.

"They did," answered Gwaine.

During the course of the war, every time when the Thunder Bearer faced with an eyrie or settlement, Thorondor would offer them the same choice: join the cause of the Thunder Bearer, or be forced to join. With the settlements, virtually all of them agreed to join the Thunder Bearers after centuries of being exploited by the eyrie Storm Riders. With the eyries however, it had been a completely different story. Since each one was a bastion of a Storm Rider order, many of them were capable of defending themselves. Of the ones that surrendered, they were usually the smaller and weaker eyries or (and far rarer) eyries that shared the same ideals as the Thunder Bearers. The surrendering Storm Riders were welcomed into the Thunder Bearers, as were their armies and people.

Many more however, inevitably chose to resist. They were defeated, and the resisting Storm Rider order would be utterly annihilated. The surviving armies and people would be incorporated into the Thunder Bearers' order, but at times, some would continue to resist, often resulting in the difficult and brutal task of putting them down.

Gwaine could see those deaths tearing at Thorondor's soul.

Now that the Storm Hold, home to easily over ten million souls, ten thousand of which were Storm Riders, had refused to willingly join the Thunder Bearers, they would meet the same fate of the other Storm Rider orders that had resisted, and the ten million people who called the Storm Hold home would no doubt suffer, either through collateral damage, or through resisting due to some misguided ideal.

Those coming deaths were weighing heavily on Thorondor. Gwaine decided to do his best to pull Thorondor's thoughts away from them.

"So this is it, then?" asked Gwaine.

Thorondor smiled gratefully at Gwaine, clearly realising what Gwaine was trying to do. "Yes. Once the Hold falls under our control, all of Tempestas will be united."

"With you at its heart," added Gwaine.

Thorondor remained silent, clearly turning the thought over in his head.

"Me ruling Tempestas..." began Thorondor, bowing his head.

"With all of Tempestas united, we will need a leader to hold it together, or else things would fall apart and go back to how they were," said Gwaine. "You're the only one who could do this."

"There's you," said Thorondor, looking over Gwaine with a wry smile.

"I don't command the same level of awe and respect you do," replied Gwaine sternly. He softened a little before adding. "Besides, you know I'll be at your side every step of the way. I can't have you making stupid decisions now, can I, Thor?"

Thorondor's smile widened a little further. "I just wish that Master Torwald could be here."

Gwaine said nothing, but clapped Thorondor on the back, smiling sadly.

II II II

Ajuhal was studying the hololithic map of the Storm Hold with his advisors around him. The old warrior towered over his peers, his completely bald save for the grey topknot that flowed down between his shoulders like a tail. His hard, dark eyes took in information from the hololithic readings even as various messengers periodically rushed into the chamber that he had made his command post to relay news.

"The enemy has breached the lower levels, my lord!"

"Master Tagast's company have engaged enemy Riders to the west of the Hold!"

"Master Suvan and Master Uzair's companies have both been destroyed!"

"Enemy forces landing on the eastern peaks, my lord!"

Ajuhal took all the information in with a stoic expression, barking out the appropriate orders when necessary. This was why the people of Tempestas had paid tribute to him; so he could wage war on their behalf. He had no use for ideals, only practicalities.

Ajuhal had known Torwald for decades. He had often scoffed at the Thunder Bearer's ideals, but had always respected Torwald's abilities as a warrior.

Despite that respect however, Ajuhal had not hesitated to go to war against Torwald's order when it became clear that the leader of the Iron Roost had become a threat. He had crossed blades many times with Torwald during the war, with neither warrior being able to overcome the other. Their respect for each other had grown each time.

Torwald had often pleaded with Ajuhal to see sense, to join his cause. Ajuhal could see the nobility of the Thunder Bearer's vision, but it wasn't just possible. It would have taken far too much blood, too many resources to accomplish a goal as lofty as the unification of Tempestas; there would always be rogue Storm Riders resisting, individual eyries and settlements. It would have cost far too much. The old ways were best; the Storm Riders offering protection, and the people of Tempestas paying them for it. Far less lives and resources would have been thrown away.

Ajuhal had mourned when he had heard of Torwald's death, but he had also been relieved; he had hoped that with the Thunder Bearer gone, the Iron Roost Riders would give up in their foolish aim to unify Tempestas, and things could go back to the way they were.

Only he had been wrong.

The Iron Roost Riders, renamed the Thunder Bearers had risen under the leadership of the Storm Lord and renewed their campaign with ruthless aggression. Eyrie after eyrie had fallen or surrendered to them, settlements flocked to their banners and opposing Storm Rider orders either joined them or were exterminated.

Ajuhal had been right in the sense that much blood had been spilled over the goal to unify Tempestas.

Now, his order was the only one left in the Thunder Bearers' way.

Ajuhal knew the odds of victory were nearly non-existent, but decades of experience allowed him to see a glimmer of hope.

If he could take the head of the Storm Lord, then victory would belong to his order. The Storm Lord was the heart of the Thunder Bearers and their armies, the driving force behind their vision; with him gone, they would break.

So he waited patiently, using his decades of experience to react to the situation, listening for the opening he was waiting for…

"My lord, the main vanguard led by Master Rokai, Master Kon and Master Azrael have been routed! The rest of our forces are too spread out; the enemy has a clear path to the Hold's central peaks…right at us."

There.

Ajuhal straightened up, grinning. "Gentlemen, an opportunity has presented itself."

One of his fellow Riders looked at him, surprised. "An opportunity, my lord?"

Ajuhal nodded. "This is our chance, if we take it, victory will be ours."

Some of his most senior Riders nodded in understanding, but the rest looked confused.

Ajuhal rested his knuckles on the hololith desk. "Consider this; the enemy now has a clear shot to get us…me. The Storm Lord himself will show himself at last."

"How can you be certain, my lord?" asked one of the Riders.

Ajuhal shot a glare at the Rider who had spoken, making him lower his gaze. "Because the Storm Lord's victory will not be complete unless he personally takes my head. Therein lies our chance for victory."

Ajuhal turned to pick up his glaive; rotating his shoulder in anticipation of the fight.

"I will lead our reserve Riders and take his head myself."

Silence greeted his words.

"Can…can you do it, my lord?" asked one of the younger Riders. He gulped when every eye in the room turned to him. "The Storm Lord has personally killed many of our finest Riders…can…can you do it?"

Ajuhal grinned. "Fair point, but none of those Riders were me."

He turned to face his men. "We've been on the back foot in this war for the last two decades. Everything hinges on this last battle. We will put everything into this final counterattack. Clear a path for me; I will go for the Storm Lord."

"But if you fall, my lord…"

"This is war, gentlemen," growled Ajuhal. "There is no place for me to go even if I survive the loss. The Storm Hold is my home…our home…our way of life is being threatened by these misguided fools. I am not going anywhere."

Ajuhal straightened up once more.

"I will take to the Storm once more. If this proves to be the last time I do, then so be it. Are you with me, my brothers?"

They answered with a resounding roar.

II II II

Ajuhal's army collided with the Thunder Bearers in mid-air. Wrist-mounted guns roared like thunder, tearing through armour and Storm Eagle alike. Power glaives sliced through Thunder Bearer or Storm Hold Rider or Eagle. Storm Eagle talons snared Riders or tore through other Eagles, while steel-hard beak drew blood on every engagement.

Ajuhal rode through the confusion with a confidence born through decades of experience. Two Thunder Bearer Riders charged him head on and he expertly angled his Eagle so he easily flew between them, allowing his Eagle to rake its talons through one Thunder Bearer while he clove another in half with his power glaive.

Many other Thunder Bearers tried to take him, but he was too great a warrior for them, cutting them down or expertly manoeuvring his Storm Eagle into a killing position. Many Thunder Bearers fell to the violent sea by his hand.

Ajuhal grinned, his blood racing from the thrill of battle. No one could stop him.

Until he collided with another warrior who proved to be his equal. They circled each other and swooped in and out, trading blows with their power glaives or allowing their Eagles to snap and claw at each other.

Ajuhal recognised Gwaine the Lightning Rider, the right hand of Thorondor the Storm Lord. The other warrior lived up to his reputation, matching Ajuhal blow for blow. After nearly ten minutes of duelling, Ajuhal's experience spotted miniscule weak points in Gwaine's technique, so miniscule that would be unnoticeable to anyone else.

He knew how to exploit it, but it would cost him and his Storm Eagle a lot of energy, and given the Lightning Rider's own fighting prowess, Ajuhal knew he wouldn't come out of it unscathed.

Ajuhal swore, he had hoped to save his energy for the Storm Lord, but if he allowed this duel to carry on…

There was a pair of screeches, and two of Ajuhal's fellow Riders threw themselves at the Lightning Rider, forcing him back.

Ajuhal thanked them silently and flew on, searching for the Storm Lord.

Around him, the battle raged on. His Storm Riders were among the best on Tempestas, but so were the Thunder Bearers, and there were more of them.

The longer the battle went on, the more the tide of battle would favour the Thunder Bearers. Ajuhal knew he had to end it soon.

A great cry cut through the chaos of battle, and at last, Ajuhal saw _him_.

The legendary Storm Eagle Garuda descended from the Eternal Storm itself, many times bigger than any other Storm Eagle. His massive wings knocked Storm Hold Raiders out of the air; his talons tore through many of them with every single swipe and his beak ended lives with every blow.

On his back, bear headed, with a menacing smile was Thorondor the Storm Lord.

With his appearance, many of the Storm Hold Riders fell back, their Storm Eagles maddened with fear and refusing to go near Garuda.

Ajuhal's own mount squawked with fear and tried to turn around.

"Woah there," cried Ajuhal, patting his Eagle on the back of the neck. "Woah there, old friend."

He held his Eagle in place, facing the Storm Lord. He leaned forward to whisper to his frightened mount.

"We've been through a lot together, haven't we?" he said soothingly. "I know you're scared; so am I. But this is what we live for, Torun. We kill them here, and we'll have nothing to fear ever again. So come on!"

His Storm Eagle calmed and shot forward towards the massive form of Garuda. Ajuhal's grip on his power glaive tightened as he envisioned tearing through Garuda's torso before going for the Storm Lord.

Garuda and his rider spotted them coming and reacted swiftly.

The massive Storm Eagle's beak shot out at them with frightening speed, but Ajuhal swiftly guided his Storm Eagle beneath the blow, slashing out with his power glaive at Garuda's chest.

The Storm Lord reacted with stunning speed, making Garuda bank away from the blow so that Ajuhal struck nothing but air. Garuda wheeled around, shrieking murderously and Ajuhal knew his Eagle was no match for the Storm Lord's mount in straight fight.

He urged his Storm Eagle skyward; height was crucial in aerial combat.

Behind him, the Storm Lord pursued him.

Ajuhal urged his mount to go faster, and his Storm Eagle responded as best as it could, but it still wasn't enough; Garuda was gaining on them.

Suddenly, Ajuhal wheeled his mount around, charging straight at Garuda. Surprised, the massive Storm Eagle reacted too slowly, his beak snapping out too late.

Ajuhal guided his Storm Eagle over the blow so they were flying right over Garuda and towards the Storm Lord himself.

As one of Garuda's massive wings rose, threatening to unbalance his mount, Ajuhal angled his mount so that he would have a clean swing at the Storm Lord.

With years of experience and trust between them, Ajuhal's Eagle obeyed, giving him the perfect angle for the blow.

Ajuhal raised his glaive, preparing to swing, as the Storm Lord did the same.

Time seemed to slow between them and their eyes met.

In that moment, Ajuhal knew that he was facing a being far beyond anything he had ever met. Nothing in his decades of experience could have prepared him for that moment; if anything, all it did was confirm the vast gulf between him and his foe. As Ajuhal looked into the storm-grey eyes of the Storm Lord, he saw within them a power and strength far surpassing Torwald the Thunder Bearer, Gwaine and himself and indeed, any other Storm Rider on Tempestas past, present and very likely even the future.

Ajuhal realised then and there, that he had never stood a chance.

His power glaive, raised and ready to swing at its master's foe, faltered.

As though sensing Ajuhal's thoughts, the Storm Lord's menacing smile morphed into a smile of pity, and through his eyes, the Storm Lord promised him a mercifully quick death.

Ajuhal, the Lord of the Storm Hold's life came to an end when Thorondor the Storm Lord clove him in half with a single blow.

II II II

The Battle of the Storm Hold had lasted for a week, beginning with breaches by the non-Riders armies on the lower levels to various assaults by the Thunder Bearers Storm Rider companies on the eastern and western peaks. The battle had ended when Ajuhal, Lord of the Storm Hold had fought Thorondor the Storm Lord in single battle and was killed.

With the death of Ajuhal, the Storm Riders of the Hold had quickly crumbled and were routed. Those who surrendered were shown mercy, while those who continued to resist, either by fighting or fleeing were slain.

The battle had cost over hundreds of thousands of lives, marking it as the bloodiest battle in the Unification of Tempestas.

With the Storm Hold under the Thunder Bearers' control, there was no longer any Storm Rider order that could resist the Thunder Bearers. The smaller orders that had thus far stayed out of the war quickly surrendered to the Thunder Bearers, bringing all the Storm Riders and the people of Tempestas under their rule.

Thorondor the Storm Lord was the ruler of Tempestas. The news was met with great celebration by the people of Tempestas, with some mixed reactions by the Storm Riders.

But none would question Thorondor's prowess as a warrior and his great leadership.

For the first time in her history, Tempestas was a united world.


	14. Falling Stars

**Falling Stars**

The decade that followed the unification of Tempestas saw much rebuilding and reordering. Much of Tempestas had been ravaged during the war; and it took most of the decade to restore most of the damage. Many of the soldiers who had fought alongside the Thunder Bearers had been redeployed to help with the rebuilding effort. In honour of their efforts, the term 'Thunder Bearers', originally used to refer to the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost, the Storm Lord also bestowed the same title upon all who had fought for the unity of Tempestas; Storm Rider and non-Storm Rider alike.

As for the Storm Riders of the Thunder Bearers, they were dispatched to put down the resisting pockets of other Storm Riders from the old ways and the sky raiders. With order slowly but surely being enforced, and the focus shifting from war to development, the state of affairs in Tempestas began to improve.

The Storm Hold became the administrative capital of Tempestas while the Iron Roost became its security and military centre. Within the decade, much of Tempestas's population moved to both locations, eager to take part in building the new era of their world.

As for the Storm Lord, Thorondor, he spent most of his time devoting himself to every single aspect of the rebuilding of Tempestas that he was rarely seen. But every Tempestan felt his presence, watching over them like the Eternal Storm, driving them to give their all.

II II II

Thorondor's eyes scanned the reports submitted to him, absorbing the information almost automatically even while his thoughts were elsewhere.

He supposed he had been naive. The war had only been the first step to achieving Torwald's vision. Rebuilding had been the second step, and only at the end of the decade had things finally returned to their pre-war state. In truth, it would have taken even longer if it hadn't been for a large bulk of the army regulars being redeployed to aid with the rebuilding. Only lately had the focus started to shift towards development and improvement.

Thorondor sighed.

In truth, any large scale development would be a mighty challenge given the nature of Tempestas's surface; the violent oceans, the limited availability of land and the Eternal Storm itself. There were many things to consider, things that Thorondor had very little patience for.

He was a warrior; not an administrator. He was meant to lead men into battle, not figure out how to fine-tune the plumbing of the settlements. But he would not shirk his duty, no matter how vexing it may be.

"How are you feeling?"

Thorondor looked up to see Gwaine. His closest friend strode forward, smiling a little as he placed a plateful of food before Thorondor.

"You keep forgetting to eat lately," remarked Gwaine. "We don't want you wasting away now, do we?"

Thorondor's smile turned wry as he nodded his thanks. He gratefully put aside the reports he had been reading and eagerly began to dig into the food.

"How's things at the Iron Roost?" asked Thorondor, after a few mouthfuls.

"Recruitments are up for the army regulars," answered Gwaine, sitting himself across from Thorondor. "Not so much for the Storm Riders though; only veterans from the war have tried to join; only a handful make it."

"We're not recruiting according to the old ways anymore?" asked Thorondor.

Gwaine shrugged. "We do. But it's the Eagles...they've changed. They've become even pickier with who they choose; only the veterans are being considered...and only the best of them are chosen."

"I see," said Thorondor.

Gwaine said nothing for awhile, watching Thorondor for a moment.

"You look tired," he said at last.

Thorondor's smile widened. "How could you tell?"

"I know you better than most," answered Gwaine, smiling. "I know you don't get tired the way we 'normal' people do. But I can tell that you're tired of doing all this."

Gwaine gestured vaguely at the reports on Thorondor's desk.

Thorondor chuckled. "After the thrill of battle, anyone would find reading a little dull."

As Gwaine chuckled, Thorondor found himself studying Gwaine intently. His incredibly sharp vision spotted more grey in Gwaine's hair, the weathering skin and the lines around the eyes. For a brief moment, Thorondor saw Torwald in his finals days instead of Gwaine.

Fear, so alien a feeling clenched his heart.

Thorondor had been aware that while many of his peers were still in their prime, they were aging.

Except for him. Not a single grey streak in his hair or line on his face. He was the same as he was since he matured into a man.

"Something wrong?" asked Gwaine, noticing Thorondor's sudden change in mood.

"Nothing," answered Thorondor, leaning back. "You look older."

Gwaine scowled. "Well, we can't all have your perpetual youth now, can we?"

The two of them laughed, but the fear would not leave Thorondor's heart.

II II II

Whenever Thorondor wanted to clear his head, he would always sneak out in the dead of night and go flying on Garuda's back. He would endlessly circle the Storm Hold, enjoying the harsh winds, the pattering rain, and the roar of the sea and the rumbling of the Storm.

That night though, Thorondor pushed Garuda towards the Storm, urging his partner to take him to greater heights in hopes he could escape the fear.

His _otherness_ beyond his immense stature and miraculously fast healing capabilities had become more and more apparent during and after the war. Thorondor had realised that his senses were on a whole different level compared to other people, he realised that he learned and absorbed information with unnatural ease, in particular those that related to war.

Thorondor was also starting to suspect that he did not age.

He was already fifty-one, yet he still he was the same as he was when he was twenty. It went beyond just his physical appearance; it was _everything_. His strength showed no signs of waning, his vitality was unchanged, his athleticism undiminished. If anything, they continued to improve.

While many veterans of the war were still great warriors, Thorondor could already see the effects of age on them, including Gwaine.

The thought that he might outlive them all frightened him. He did not want to lose them.

He didn't want to be left behind.

Alone.

With a shout, Thorondor spurred Garuda into the Storm, letting it engulf them.

He relished the wetness, the howling winds and even the lightning that passed through his armour and Garuda's steel-like feathers harmlessly, flying ever higher until they emerged above the Eternal Storm itself.

The Storm stretched out in every direction like a sea of grey clouds as Garuda glided over it, letting out a cry every now and then to challenge any other Storm Eagle that may be in the area, though Thorondor highly doubted it.

Above them, the stars filled the night sky, shining like diamonds. Thorondor looked up at them and for the first time in decades, thought back to the conversation between him and his mother.

"_You came from the Storm_."

Thorondor pondered those words as he looked up at the endless spots of light dotting the sky. He wondered if he had in fact came from the stars. Were there others like him, other beings of incredible strength, intellect and agelessness?

Did it matter?

Thorondor could hear Firiel's voice in his head.

"_Don't you ever think that, foolish boy. Whether you came from the sky in an aircraft, or born of a woman, Tempestas is your home. You belong to her as much as I do. We are all equal beneath the Storm_."

Thorondor smiled; now that Tempestas was truly united, he would to make everyone equal beneath the Storm, just as Torwald had dreamed, just as Firiel had always said.

He missed his mother. He had last seen her after the end of the war, promising her to make Tempestas a better place. She was approaching eighty, but still strong in spirit, if frailer in body. Thorondor had asked her to move to the Storm Hold where he could look after her, but she had smacked him lightly on the shins with her walking stick, snapping that he had enough to do without looking after her, and scolded Thorondor for thinking she needed looking after at all.

Thorondor's smiled widened. He would go visit his mother and perhaps take Gwaine as well; it had been a long time since Gwaine had been with his own family. One of the senior officials can look after matters in his absence.

Suddenly, Garuda let out a shriek that jarred Thorondor from his thoughts.

"What is it, Garuda?" asked Thorondor, holding tightly to the reins.

In answer, Garuda shrieked again, looking up to the night sky. Thorondor followed the Storm Eagle's gaze and his smile faltered.

Several stars were streaking across the night sky, leaving a fiery trail in their wake. They were near, too near.

The stars were falling.


	15. Monsters from the Sky

**Monsters from the Sky  
**

Firiel shivered a little as she emerged from the tunnels of Left Peak. It was raining very lightly, so Firiel wanted to take advantage of the unusually good weather and enjoy the breeze. She leant on her walking stick as she walked the path the leading to higher ground, her joints aching.

There was a time when she could walk the same path quickly and confidently. Now she was practically hobbling, her limbs aching with every step. Such were the indignities inflicted by age.

As she gradually made her way up, she came across a young soldier who was patrolling the path. The soldier paused before inclining his head respectfully towards her.

"Ma'am," he said. "May I help you?"

He extended his arm.

Firiel considered refusing (such was her stubborn pride), but her aching limbs changed her mind. She thanked the young soldier and gratefully took his arm. The soldier walked alongside her, patiently helping her walk up the path.

There were perks to being the Storm Lord's mother.

She missed Thorondor; she hadn't seen him since the end of the war when he had come to tell her of the Thunder Bearers' victory. He had wanted her to come with him to the Storm Hold, but Left Peak was her home. Firiel couldn't bring herself to leave it, even though the disappointed look on Thorondor's face had caused her a twinge of guilt.

But she was proud of him; proud of what he had accomplished, proud of what he will accomplish and what he had become.

The soldier left her at her favourite viewing platform; it sheltered her from the rain and afforded her a fantastic view of Tempestas. As she looked across the ocean, she lost herself in her memories of Thorondor in his younger days, before he had become the ruler of Tempestas. She smiled to herself as she remembered the countless times she had chased after him and Gwaine for whatever foolishness that they were always getting up to.

Firiel wondered what people would think if they found out that she had smacked the Storm Lord's bottom countless time for misbehaving in the past. It would spoil the legend and mystique of Tempestas's hero somewhat.

"Storm Lord indeed," she muttered to herself, chuckling. "You'll always be my foolish little boy, Thorondor."

Firiel lost track of the time even as she lost herself in her memories, but the same soldier who had escorted her to viewing platform interrupted her thoughts.

"Ma'am," greeted the soldier. "I'm sorry to bother you, but reports say the weather's going to turn violent soon. If you'll come with me, I'll escort you back to your quarters."

Firiel nodded. "Thank you, boy."

As they made their way down the path again; the soldier patiently leading Firiel down, the Eternal Storm began to rumble.

Used to such sounds, the soldier paid no mind to it and proceeded to move on, but stopped when he realised that Firiel was not following.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" asked the soldier.

Firiel had turned away from him and was instead looking up to the sky. Her eyes were narrowed and her face scrunched, as though trying to hear and see something.

"Ma'am?" repeated the soldier.

"Do you hear something?" asked Firiel.

"Ma'am?" asked the soldier.

"The Storm, boy," said Firiel. "There's a sound...there's something in the Storm."

The soldier turned to the Storm and listened for anything unusual. He couldn't hear anything beyond the usual rumbling.

"I don't..." the soldier trailed off, listening again.

He could hear something too; a low constant rumbling in contrast to the uneven rumbles of the Eternal Storm.

It was growing louder.

All thoughts of descending into the shelter of the tunnels forgotten, the soldier began to radio the army headquarters, warning them to be on the alert, though he was confused; the low constant rumbling could only mean that an aircraft was approaching, but the fact that it was coming from the Storm made it unlikely; there were no aircrafts on Tempestas capable of flying into the Storm without being destroyed.

Five minutes later, the impossible become reality.

An aircraft of size and scale bigger than anything Firiel and the young soldier had ever seen descended from the Storm, swiftly followed by a second. The soldier's radio went berserk with radio traffic as the soldiers scrambled to react to the unexpected...visit? Raid?

Invasion?

Recovering from her shock, Firiel began to hobble quickly up the path, intending to make her way to the peak of Left Peak, its flat surface allowing it to serve as a port for all incoming aircrafts. The surprised soldier followed after her.

"Ma'am, we should really head back down where it's safe…" he protested.

"Nonsense!" snapped Firiel. "I have to see what's going on! I've never seen an aircraft that big…"

"It could be raiders, ma'am," warned the soldier.

"Hmph! As if those savages could build something that big!" retorted Firiel. "Impossible for them; not with security forces hunting them down constantly."

"But ma'am, we have no idea if they're friendly or hostile…"

"What if it's the Storm Lord himself?" suggested Firiel. "What if he's built that aircraft and decided to show off by giving everyone a heart attack?"

"B-but…why…?" stammered the soldier.

"I wouldn't put it past the cheeky fellow," said Firiel, chuckling. "I'll give him a good rap on the head if it is him."

Firiel continued to hobble up the path with the soldier following hesitantly. Firiel shot him an irritated glance over her shoulder.

"Well, are you going to help me get up there or not?" she snapped. "What excuse will you have for the Storm Lord if you let his old mother slip and break her back?"

Gulping at the thought, the soldier hurried to help her up the path.

II II II

Commander Brand had been fifteen when the war had started. He had enlisted despite his young age and had served ably, rising to the command of the 85th Thunder Bearer Regiment in those twenty years. Since the war had ended, Brand's main duty was to keep the peace in Trident's Peak region. It had been a peaceful, if slightly dull task.

Now though, Brand was completely thrown by the situation unfolding before him.

Two aircrafts the sizes of which were bigger than anything he had ever seen was hovering above the landing platform. They had descended from the Storm ten minutes ago, approaching Left Peak before coming to a stop, hovering like rumbling Storm Eagles.

The fact that army forces had managed to deploy in defensive formation on the platform with anti-aircraft weapons at the ready despite being caught off-guard was testament to the strict regime that Brand had enforced on his soldiers, keeping them battle-ready at all times. His regiment's aircrafts had deployed and were circling the interlopers, prepared to fire at the first sign of trouble.

Brand stood with his men near the frontlines. Attempts to communicate with new arrivals via radio had been met with silence, so Brand raised a voice-projecting device to his mouth.

"Unidentified aircrafts! You are to land immediately and power down your engines! Have your crew exit unarmed and surrender yourself into our custody! Respond! If you fail to do so, we will open fire!"

For five tense minutes, the aircrafts remained as they were, before one of them slowly lowered itself, landing on the platform. The entrance to its loading bay opened, revealing darkness within as a landing ramp extended.

The Tempestan soldiers found themselves tightening their grip on their weapons.

"Easy, men," warned Brand, raising his hand to prevent them from firing prematurely.

When the passengers of the aircraft descended, Brand very nearly gave the order to fire, and only stopped himself with sheer force of will.

There were nine of them, hulking giants clad in steel-grey armour, towering over the Tempestan soldiers. Their heads were covered in helms with glowing red eye-lenses. Eight of them carried massive guns across their chest, and combat knives the length of swords at the belts, clearly not hostile, but wary and battle-ready. The ninth, clearly the leader, had more ornamentation on his armour, and his helm bore a Mohawk-like crest of black. He bore no gun, only what was clearly a chainsword tucked at his side, but one many times the size of any chainsword that could be found on Tempestas.

The giants strode forward in perfect synch with each other, more akin to automatons than living men before coming to a stop several yards away, facing the Tempestans.

Their leader stood in front of his men, the glowing red lenses surveying the soldiers before him.

"Who rules here?" he asked, his voice the bark and rumble of an aircraft engine.

Brand mustered his courage and stepped forward, trying not to flinch when the giant turned his gaze on him.

"I am Commander Brand of the 85th Thunder Bearer Regiment," said Brand, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. "Sir, I must ask you and your men to surrender your weapons…"

"I asked: who rules here?" repeated the giant.

"As the ranking officer at Left Peak, I do," answered Brand, a hint of anger in his voice at being interrupted. "Now I must insist…"

"I mean, who rules this world?" interrupted the giant again.

Brand bristled at the interruption. "Sir, I demand that you turn over your weapons now! You have entered Trident's Peak airspace without authorisation, and must submit for interrogation."

The giant glared down at him. "I will meet the ruler of this world. If necessary, I will submit to him and him alone."

"That is not for you to decide!" snapped Brand. "Now surrender your weapons, or we will open fire!"

The giant let out a noise that sounded like a chuckle. "You have courage, little man. But no, I will not. I suggest you hold your fire, unless you want a bloodbath."

Brand wanted to give the order to fire, but somehow sensed that the giant was more than capable of making good of his threat. But he still could not simply let these…_foreigners _have their way.

"You will tell us where we can find the ruler of this world," said the giant in the manner of a man used to being obeyed instantly.

"Do you really expect that we'll let armed intruders near the Storm Lord?" snapped Brand. "You must think us foolish."

"The Storm Lord?" repeated the giant, curiosity in his voice. "Is that what he is called…"

The giant trailed off, and Brand could hear something akin to radio chatter apparently emitting from within his helmet.

The giant titled his head to one side, listening intently. "My lord, I don't think…"

He paused, listening to the chatter again before nodding.

"As you wish, my lord."

Without a word, the giant and his men took several steps back as the other aircraft lowered itself, its loading bay entrance already opening.

Several more giants, similarly armoured but in a shade of grey more similar to the Eternal Storm leaped from it, landing with all the force of thunder before the Tempestans. Pelts from beasts unknown to Brand flowed from their shoulders like capes. These giants wore no helm, but instead, their faces were covered with leather masks shaped into monsters and carried all manner of axes and swords with them. Unlike the other giants, who carried themselves in the manner of disciplined soldiers, these were clearly individualistic warriors.

Beneath their masks, Brand could make out panting mouths.

And fangs.

Gold eyes and with jet-black pupils stared at him from behind the masks.

"Monsters," whispered Brand as he and the Tempestan soldiers found themselves backing away. He was about to give the order to fire when another being leaped from the aircraft and landed before them.

Brand had been in the presence of the Storm Lord only once in his life, but that moment had burned itself deep into his mind.

Brand had stood at the front ranks with the other commanders following the end of the Battle for the Storm Hold as part of the triumphant celebrations held to celebrate the end of the war. The Storm Lord had walked from one end to the other, offering every commander he passed a word of encouragement, gratitude or praise.

When the Storm Lord had reached Brand, Brand had been complete overwhelmed by the sheer presence that exuded from the leader of the Thunder Bearers. The Storm Lord had looked down at Brand from his towering height, his grey eyes evaluating everything about Brand then and there, an enigmatic smile on his face.

To Brand, it was though he was facing an embodiment of the Eternal Storm itself, locked into human form. He throat had gone dry and he had struggled to remember to breathe as the Storm Lord looked down upon him.

Finally, the Storm Lord's smile had widened as though pleased by what he saw and he had clapped Brand upon the shoulder before moving on.

No words, just a simple gesture, but it had stayed with Brand ever since.

The being that had just leapt from the aircraft reminded Brand of the Storm Lord in so many ways. From his towering height, Brand could see that the…_man_ would be equal to the Storm Lord in height, but that was just a superficial similarity.

The man towered over even the giants, his reddish blonde hair billowing around him wildly like a mane, reminding Brand of a savage feral beast. He was clad in tempest-grey armour, with ornate etchings and battle-marks decorating it. The man's skin was pale, and his eyes blazed with savage intentions and he had a grin on his face, revealing fangs that sent chills down Brand's spine. A sword, easily longer and bigger than Brand was strapped across the man's back.

But it was the sheer presence exuding from him that had Brand paralysed with a mixture of awe and terror.

If the Storm Lord was like the Eternal Storm contained into human form, this man was like the onset of the Storm, seconds away from being unleashed. Beneath his gaze, Brand felt as though every part of his body was being analysed for the best way to be ripped apart. He tried to speak, to reassert his authority, but he felt that if he were to utter a single word in this…_monster's_ presence, he would be ripped apart on the spot.

Brand stared, utterly helpless as the monster approached.

The monster came to a halt before brand, aggression radiating from every fibre of his being. He stared down at Brand as though deciding which part of Brand's body he should begin dismembering. When he finally opened his mouth, Brand thought the monster was going to bite out his throat, but instead, the monster spoke in a voice edged with a wet-leopard growl.

"So little man, do you have the courage to ask the men of the _Vlka Fenryka_ to surrender their weapons to you?"

Brand's mind froze in terror. The monster's grinned widened as his warriors threw their heads up to the sky and howled. It was a low, mournful sound that cut across even the rumbling of the Eternal Storm. It threatened violence and death.

The sound chilled every Tempestan soldier to core, but they stood their ground. The men and women of the Thunder Bearers of Tempestas had fought a long hard war to unify their world. They would not back down from anyone.

Not even the monsters from the sky.


	16. Men from Terra

Sorry for the delay. Writing a fanfic with my thesis deadline looming over the horizon isn't exactly the best idea I've ever had. In any case...I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

**Men from Terra**

Brand was paralysed, staring up at the giant warrior. Everything about the giant threatened violence, and the constant trembling was about the only form of movement he could manage.

"Well?" boomed the giant. "Where is your courage little man? Speak, or must I see if you've swallowed your own tongue?"

Brand still could not reply as the giant glared down at him menacingly. The giant leant down towards him and he found himself holding his breath, certain that he was about to have his throat ripped out by the intruder's unnatural fangs.

But then, Brand found his courage and his voice.

"S...sir," he managed to croak out. "I...I...I demand that...you surrender to the...to the...to us."

The giant paused, staring down at Brand with something akin to surprise on his savage face. Then, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"The nerve of this one!" boomed the giant warrior. "I was certain that you were going to piss yourself, but then you still manage to squeak out some defiance! _Hjolda_! You've got a spine alright!"

Behind him, his warriors were also barking with laughter, the mirthful sound even more menacing than any growl or battle cry. Behind them, the nine warriors that had landed earlier were silent, as still as statues.

"Yes, you've got a spine," said the towering monster, his chuckles edged with a growl. As swift as lightning, he unsheathed the mighty broadsword on his back and held the blade inches away from Brand's midsection. "So how would you like me to sever it?"

Immediately, the Tempestan soldiers had their weapons trained on the giant warrior, the only thing preventing them from firing was the fact that their commander was between them and the intruder.

"Sir," said Brand in a calm voice that quavered ever so slightly. "If you don't surrender...your...your arms...we will...will open fire."

The warrior grinned. "Then you'll have to open fire, because the men of the Rout will never surrender their weapons. But I assure you little man, that would be the gravest mistake you'll ever make...and your last."

"What...what do you want?" asked Brand desperately.

"You already know what," answered the giant, jerking his head back to where the nine warriors behind him stood. "We will meet your leader."

"But that's...we..." stammered Brand. "That would take time!"

"We can wait," replied the warrior, grinning, his fangs gleaming in the faint Tempestan light. "We're not going anywhere."

Before Brand could reply, a great cry rang out from above and the great, majestic form of Garuda descended from the Storm, landing just behind Brand as the Tempestan soldiers scattered to make way for the Storm Eagle. On his back was Thorondor.

The Storm Lord had arrived.

II II II

Firiel had watched from afar, clutching the arm of the soldier who had accompanied her tightly. She had admired Commander Brand's courage in the face of such monstrous exaggerations of humanity. That Brand had managed to speak out against the giant intruders' leader despite the violence and aggression radiating from his every being was testament to Commander's devotion to his duty.

But still, Firiel had known deep in her gut somehow that if fighting were to break out, many Tempestan lives would be lost even if they could take down the giant warriors.

But even if they did, Firiel strongly doubted any weapon they had could even harm their savage monster of a leader. She knew instinctively that he was a being apart; far above the brave soldiers of Tempestas and even his own warriors. While he terrified Firiel, there was something in his presence that was very familiar, a sort of _otherness_ that she had only felt from one other being.

Thorondor.

But where Thorondor filled everyone with a sense of assurance, safety and confidence, the monster towering over Brand threatened death and destruction with every fibre of his being. His mere presence, even from distance had Firiel's heart beating so hard from fear that she thought she was going to pass out.

The tension in the air around her was palpable; every soldier had their fingers tensed on the trigger of their rifles. Firiel willed them not to fire, to stay calm. Above all, she wished Thorondor was present.

As though hearing her wish, a great cry rang out from the Storm, startling everyone, including the invaders. She had seen Garuda emerge from the Storm, and the familiar form of Thorondor could be seen on his back, his dark hair loose and billowing in the wind as he and his mount descended, landing with an earth-shaking force right behind Brand, scattering the Tempestan soldiers and sending the commander to his knees.

Even the monstrous warrior took several steps back, baring his teeth in a snarl at the gigantic Storm Eagle.

From Garuda's back, Thorondor looked over at the Tempestan soldiers and his eyes found Firiel. She could relief on his face before he turned back to the invaders, dismounting with his glaive in hand. But the look on Thorondor's face had chilled Firiel to the bone. Her son wore the smile that had become so characteristic of him, but it had the same menacing quality she could only remember once.

When Thorondor had massacred the raiders who had attacked Left Peak decades ago.

II II II

The Storm Lord had arrived. Brand knew the greatest hero in the history of Tempestas was right behind him.

The thought comforted him somewhat, but he felt as though he was trapped between two great forces of nature, threatening to collide with each other and utterly annihilate him along the way. Being within striking distance of Garuda's beak didn't help either.

He felt a huge hand on his shoulder and slowly turned to look up into the face of the Storm Lord. Thorondor was smiling down at him, though his grey eyes were filled with tension and barely contained anger.

"Thank you, Commander Brand," said Thorondor. "Go back to your men, I will deal with this."

The Storm Lord's words released Brand from his paralysis and he managed to wobble back to his men, trying not to run and taking great care to skirt around Garuda.

Thorondor strode forward until he was face to face with the giant, and face to face it was, for the other warrior was exactly the same height as Thorondor. The two of them faced each other, the other warrior with an insolent grin on his face and Thorondor with a menacing smile on his.

"Who are you, then?" asked the warrior.

Thorondor raised an eyebrow. "Courtesy dictates that the intruder names himself first."

"Ha! I haven't run you through with my sword," answered the warrior. "That's courtesy enough."

Thorondor's menacing smile widened. "It's a good thing you haven't harmed anyone here. Or else I would have had Garuda tear you apart on the spot."

As though echoing his partner's sentiments, Garuda screeched at the intruders, making them back away.

Except for the warrior standing face to face with Thorondor. Instead, his grin widened even more.

"Need overgrown birds to fight your battles for you, then?" he sneered, jerking his head disdainfully at Garuda. "I've slaughtered many a _hrosshvalur _bigger than that."

"If you say so," answered Thorondor, tightening his grip on his glaive. "Then you shouldn't have too much trouble with me."

Thorondor signalled with one hand and Garuda took flight, circling above while Thorondor took a step back, whirling his power glaive into a combat-stance. The other warrior took a step back and drew his own sword.

"Come then," said the warrior, baring his fangs in a snarl.

He leapt at Thorondor, and the duel began.

II II II

To the soldiers watching, the duel was like the dance of two warriors who had attained perfection in the art of combat and killing. Each blow was struck with the intention to kill, and each one was parried, dodged or thrown back by the other. The Storm Lord channelled his barely contained anger at the interlopers for threatening his people into a deadly ballet of powerful grace while the other warrior fought with seemingly unchecked aggression, like a beast darting in and out for the kill.

Every blow by the warrior was thrown back by Thorondor, followed by a killing blow which the warrior would throw back and follow up with his own killer blow, which Thorondor would throw back. It was a breathtaking cycle with neither warrior able to gain the upper-hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, both warriors broke apart and circled each other. Both had surprise and grudging admiration on their faces; neither one had expected the match to be so closely contested.

Thorondor darted forward, intending to use the superior length of his glaive to cut the warrior from afar.

Ducking under a blow which would have decapitated him, the warrior leaped for the kill, aiming for Thorondor's unguarded torso. The people of Tempestas cried out to Thorondor in warning.

With incredible speed, Thorondor whirled his glaive around into a parry. The force of the blow rang out throughout Left Peak as Thorondor whirled his glaive around into a killing counter-blow. The other warrior parried, but the force of the blow sent him staggering back.

Seizing the opportunity, Thorondor leaped forward, raising his glaive to separate the warrior's head from his shoulders, but the warrior recovered and parried the blow, the Storm Lord's blade inches away from his head. The two warriors strained mightily.

"You fight well," said the warrior, grinning.

"As do you," answered Thorondor, smiling. "I would have your name before I kill you."

The warrior ignored Thorondor. "There is no doubt then."

With a sudden surge of strength, the warrior shoved Thorondor back, making him stagger. Thorondor recovered, instinctively raising his glaive to guard, knowing that any worthy warrior would seize the opportunity to attack.

His foe's blade broke through the guard and slashed Thorondor across the chest. The Storm Lord staggered back, clutching his wound as the Tempestans cried out in horror. Some of them surged forward with their weapons at the ready.

"Hold!" roared Thorondor, his voice like a clap of thunder. The Tempestans halted as though running into a shield wall. "Do not interfere; he is mine."

Thorondor looked down at the wound on his chest, which was already healing, taking in the blood that had splattered down his armour.

He looked at the other warrior in the eye. "You're the first to ever spill my blood."

"You don't seem to be too upset about it," answered the warrior with a grin.

Thorondor's smile widened. "It's good to test myself against a strong opponent."

Without warning, Thorondor leapt forward, his glaive slashing out. The other warrior parried, but Thorondor pressed his attack, raining blow after blow which forced his opponent to focus only on parrying, not giving him any chance to counter attack. With a particularly vicious blow, Thorondor broke through the other warrior's guard, forcing him to stagger back.

The warrior looked down at his chest to see a slash on his armour that had cut all the way through, leaving a thin trail of blood across his flesh.

"Not deep enough," remarked Thorondor, raising his glaive into a defensive stance, expecting the warrior to attack.

Instead, the invader stabbed his sword into the ground and let out a harsh bark of laughter.

"There is no doubt then," said the warrior again. He looked over his shoulder to where the other giants were. "Asghar! This is he! I doubt it can be anyone else."

One of the giants, the leader of the first group strode forward with his men. As huge as he and his men were, the warrior with the wild mane was taller still.

"My lord," said the leader, and to the surprise of Thorondor and the Tempestans gathered, his voice was trembling with emotion…awe? Joy? "Are you really certain?"

"Yes," answered the warrior, leaning on his sword. "Only another one could fight well enough to make me sweat…and even bleed a little"

Thorondor rested the haft of his glaive on the ground. "A little longer and I would make you bleed a little more."

The other warrior laughed, the sound edged with a wet-leopard growl.

The other giants marched forward until they stood before Thorondor; the leader standing in front of his men and the others spread out in a line behind him. As one, they removed their helms, the armour-piece coming off with hissing sound.

Human faces looked up at Thorondor, bigger, brutal faces, with hints of gigantism, but still clearly human. Their faces were all filled with awe and joy as they gazed up at the Storm Lord.

Their leader, a scarred man with close-crop black hair, a neat beard and moustache around a hard mouth with metal studs on his brow gazed up at Thorondor with dark brown eyes; which, to Thorondor's astonishment, was filled with tears.

As one, they kneeled before him.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Thorondor, confused.

"My lord," said the leader. "Long have we searched for you among the stars. Long have we waited for this day."

"The stars?" repeated Thorondor, his brow furrowing as his confusion deepened.

"Yes, my lord," answered the leader, looking up at Thorondor. "We come from Terra."

Terra.

In ancient Tempestan mythology, Terra was known as the goddess who was the mother of Tempestas herself. The myth tells that as Terra had lain dying, threatening to bring all life to an end with her, with the last of her life force, she gave birth to Tempestas, so that life may carry on with her daughter.

As the millennia went by, the people of Tempestas came to revere the goddess that their world was named after over Terra, who was eventually reduced to a minor deity.

"No, Terra does not exist; it-she is a myth," said Thorondor.

"Nay, my lord," said the leader. "Terra, the birthplace of humanity exists. The birth-sphere has survived Old Night; and it is now the heart of the Imperium."

"Old Night? Imperium?" echoed Thorondor. "What are you talking about? Who are you? Why have you come here?"

"Forgive me, my lord," answered the leader. "I should have introduced…"

"Stand when you speak to me," demanded Thorondor.

The giant obeyed and stood. He drew himself up to his full height, but was still far shorter than Thorondor.

"I am Asghar; Master of the Second Legion Astartes," he said. He gestured to the warrior leaning on his sword. "This is Lord Leman Russ, Primarch of the Wolves of Fenris, the Sixth Legion."

As Asghar spoke, the words seemed to unlock something within Thorondor. He dimly remembered a face; so unremarkable yet remarkable at the same time peering at him with eyes that have seen ages beyond living memory. He remembered a gentle voice that resonated with power far beyond that of any mortal man. He remembered the voice whispering of his destiny, his _purpose_.

"Legion?" whispered Thorondor.

"Yes," answered Asghar. "We are the Astartes, the chosen warriors of humanity. We travel the stars to bring Enlightenment to all the lost strands of humanity and bring them back into the fold of the Imperium."

The implications of what Asghar was saying were not lost on Thorondor, but he wanted to know something else.

"And what is a Primarch?" he asked.

"The mightiest warriors and generals ever created to lead the Legions," answered Asghar, bowing his head to Thorondor. "We search the stars looking for them. Now we, the Second Legion, have found our Primarch."

"Me?" whispered Thorondor.

Asghar nodded, a smile of pure joy on his face. "Yes, my lord. We have hoped for this day since we first set out from Terra decades ago."

It can't be true. Thorondor was Tempestan born and raised! He had grown up beneath the Storm along with everyone else even though he…

_Whether you came from the sky in an aircraft, or born of a woman…_

_You weren't…born. Not as we know it…_

He wasn't born on Tempestas. With a growing feeling of horror, Thorondor was starting to feel that he hadn't been _born_ at all.

"You said the Primarchs were created?" asked Thorondor slowly. "Who created the Primarchs? Who created…me?"

The warrior, the other Primarch, Leman Russ responded first. "The Allfather."

Asghar nodded and looked Thorondor in the eye before he answered.

"The Emperor of Mankind. _Your _father."


	17. The Legion Master and the Lightning Ride

Right, just to clarify a few things:

I'm writing this story based on my interpretation of the hints in the Horus Heresy novels based on what happened to the Lost Primarchs.

My understanding is as follows:

1. The Lost Primarchs were found.

2. The only Primarchs who hadn't met the Lost Primarchs were Corax and the twins (though Black Library states that Eleventh Primarch was the second last to be found AFTER Corax, Deliverance Lost states that by the time the Emperor found Corax, the Second and Eleventh Primarchs were already gone, so I'll be going along with this in the story).

3. Whatever happened to the Lost Primarchs, it was implied that the Emperor had commanded it (in Fear to Tread, Sanguinius reveals that he was terrified that he and the Blood Angels would suffer the same fate if he were to reveal the flaw in his Legion to the Emperor, Malcador warns Dorn from bringing up the Lost Primarchs in the Lightning Stuck Tower and in Prospero Burns, Russ sadly comments at the outbreak of the Horus Heresy that Astartes fighting Astartes was not unprecedented, Lorgar was described as being distraught at whatever happened to the Lost Primarchs and it was hinted that after they were gone, the Ultramarines' numbers swelled).

4. Based on what I've read, I'm assuming that ALL but Corax and the twins had met the Lost Primarchs in person at some point.

That's my understanding of it so that's what I'll be basing this fanfic on. I apologise if it displeases any of you.

In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**The Legion Master and the Lightning Rider  
**

Gwaine was watching the skies as a ship many times the size of the largest aircraft on Tempestas descended from the Storm, making its way towards the Iron Roost bearing what Gwaine knew to be people from the Imperium.

The Imperium.

Gwaine was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Asghar had told them of Terra, of other worlds beyond Tempestas that other humans called home. He had told them of the variety of xenos that threaten Mankind throughout the cosmos: the savage Orks, the duplicitous Eldar and countless more. Asghar had also told them, with no small amount of pride of the Great Crusade; the armies of Terra setting forth to bring the various worlds of Man under the aegis of the Imperium and protect them from the horrors of the xenos.

And themselves.

In a more sombre tone, Asghar had spoken of how there were some worlds that failed to see the hope and Enlightenment brought by the Imperium. Many of these worlds embraced ancient religious superstition and worship various deities. Some were harmless enough, but many caused its populace to commit horrific acts. Fearing that their gods, ancient traditions and beliefs would be made into lies by the secular Imperial Truth, the people of these worlds would fight, and with great regret, the armies of Terra would be forced to subjugate them and integrate them into the Imperium.

The inevitable casualties were staggering, but, as Asghar often reiterated, it was for their own good.

Asghar had reluctantly revealed the number of lives lost in such campaigns, and Gwaine had been horrified by the scale of it. But to condemn the Imperium seemed hypocritical, for the Thunder Bearers had done the exact same thing on Tempestas, only on a much smaller scale.

The Emperor aimed to unify a galaxy.

Gwaine still found the magnitude of the goal staggering. To unify a world had been hard enough, but hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Millions?

"Lightning Rider."

Gwaine turned at the sound of his title and to his surprise, it was Asghar.

As the Astartes approached, Gwaine took in the massive armour, the battle-marks and honour rolls that hung from it as well as the sheer immensity of its wearer. With the faintest hint of resentment, Gwaine reflected that Asghar had more in common with Thorondor then he did.

"Legion Master," greeted Gwaine with a nod. "I'm surprised that you know of my title."

Asghar smiled, the expression looked out of place on his harsh, scarred face. "I've spoken with some of the other Storm Riders. They speak well of you."

Asghar joined Gwaine, watching over the vista of Tempestas; the jagged landmasses that dotted the violent oceans and Eternal Storm rumbling above.

"I've seen many worlds," remarked Asghar. "But Tempestas is truly magnificent."

"As magnificent as Terra?" asked Gwaine.

Asghar gestured out to the violent sea. "In ages past, Terra once had oceans too, before the nuclear wars boiled them all away. Now much of Terra is a barren wasteland and blasted ruins...most of the people live in hive cities that spread out for as far as the eye can see."

"Sounds dreadful," remarked Gwaine dryly.

"Perhaps," acknowledged Asghar. "But it is symbolic, I think, of the resilience of Mankind. No matter what adversity we face, we will always overcome them."

Asghar gestured towards the violent oceans and the Eternal Storm. "Just like the people of this world carving out a living even in the face of such unforgiving elements."

"You say that Terra's current state was caused by...what was it, nuclear weapons?" said Gwaine, shaking his head. "I find it hard to believe that there are weapons of such destruction that could scorch a world so."

Asghar nodded gravely. "Such is our potential...we were always capable of great things but also great destruction. Such is our nature; to indulge ourselves in self-destruction. But when guided, we can achieve more than that. That is what the Emperor wants for us all."

"The Emperor," said Gwaine. "What can you tell me about the Emperor?"

"I have been in his presence before," said Asghar. "But I have no words that would do the Emperor justice. He is a man...but far beyond all men. To be in his presence...it is indescribable."

"Like with Thorondor?" suggested Gwaine.

Asghar smiled. "As incredible as our lord is, even he pales in comparison to the Emperor. When he arrives, perhaps then you will understand."

While Thorondor had taken in everything Asghar had told him, he had still refused to fully commit to the Imperial cause until he had met the Emperor in person. He had allowed information and technology exchange between the Imperium and the Tempestas, and had also allowed a small contingent of Astartes from the Second Legion to stay at the Iron Roost in order to screen for potential recruits.

They had learned then that many of the Terran humans were just like the Tempestans in build and size though there were variations according to their origins. These brave men and women made up the bulk of the Imperial Army and the countless serfs and crew that kept the Great Crusade going.

The Astartes, they had learned, were the elite; men chosen from the ranks of humanity to be implanted with the gene-seed so that they may transcend their humanity and be reborn as the greatest warriors of Mankind. Not all were worthy of such an honour.

Gwaine, to his great bitterness, had been told that he was too old.

"So when the Emperor comes, he will take Thorondor from us?" asked Gwaine.

"For the greater good of Mankind," answered Asghar, nodding. "It is his destiny as Primarch of the Second Legion."

"Second Legion..." repeated Gwaine slowly. "Tell me of the Second."

"What do you wish to know?" asked Asghar.

"Well," began Gwaine, thinking carefully. "Why don't you have a name? Like the Sixth? The Wolves of Fenris, was it?"

"Outsiders call them the Space Wolves, but they dislike the title," answered Asghar. "As to your question; we haven't earned a name yet. There are other Legions that already have names; the Dusk Raiders, the War Hounds and the Luna Wolves. They've earned their names through their deeds."

"How many Legions are there?" asked Gwaine.

"Sixteen are now in active service," answered Asghar. "Four more are currently being built."

"So there are twenty," mused Gwaine. "How long has the Second Legion been in service?"

"For as long as the First Legion," answered Asghar proudly. "We have had the honour of serving the Emperor directly alongside the First. We have a rivalry of sorts with them; now that we are the third Legion to find our Primarch, we've got one up on them."

Asghar laughed roughly as Gwaine smiled.

"So each Legion has its own Primarch?"

"Yes," Asghar nodded. "All the Legions are created based on the genetic template of its Primarch."

"But only three have been found?"

"Yes; Lord Horus Lupercal, Lord Russ...and now, Lord Thorondor."

"But you say the Emperor created the Primarchs; how did they wind up on different worlds?" asked Gwaine.

Asghar hesitated; the first time Gwaine had ever seen the Astartes do so. "We don't know. To be honest, we thought the Primarchs to be lost forever...until we first found Lord Horus on Cthonia. That gave us hope; and then we found Lord Russ and now Lord Thorondor. I believe that the others are out there somewhere."

"And _all _of them are like Thorondor?" asked Gwaine.

"_Lord_ Thorondor," corrected Asghar. "I suppose they would be. You've seen Lord Russ before, how did he compare to our lord?"

Gwaine pondered the question. When he had seen Leman Russ, the Primarch of the Sixth Legion, he had been overwhelmed by the dynamic savagery that exuded from the warrior. The Primarch's growling voice, his belligerent manner, the constant posturing had in many ways intimidated Gwaine, but he was still awed.

When he had seen Thorondor and Russ together though, Gwaine had felt as if all the air in his lungs had been driven out completely. He had grown used to Thorondor in the decades they had been together, but it was as though in the presence of his fellow Primarch, the magnificence of Thorondor's existence had been unleashed once more for all to see. In a way, it reminded Gwaine of flying close to the Eternal Storm: dangerous, heart-stopping, blood-racing and utterly exhilarating.

That was what he had felt in the presence of the two Primarchs.

"They are similar," said Gwaine slowly. "But still different. And there eighteen others still out there?"

"Seventeen," corrected Asghar. "Don't forget that Lord Horus was the first to be found."

"And what is _he _like?"

Asghar smiled. "In a way, I'd say his presence is possibly even more awe-inspiring and humbling than Lord Thorondor and Lord Russ. But then, you'd expect that from one who has been personally guided by the Emperor for three decades."

"Incredible," said Gwaine, shaking his head wistfully. "I wish I could see it."

Asghar watched Gwaine carefully. "Yes, you are too old for the gene-seed implantation, are you not?"

Gwaine nodded his head bitterly.

"You have had the honour to serve Lord Thorondor for a long time, have you not?" asked Asghar.

"Serve him?" echoed Gwaine indignantly. "I grew up with him! I looked after him when he was still a child! We became Storm Riders together! We fought side by side for decades!"

"My apologies," replied Asghar, inclining his head. "You've known him longer and better than most, I see."

"Yes," said Gwaine. "You Astartes are practically immortal, as hard as it is for me to believe, but I am destined to die...as an old man by the looks of things. Thor...Lord Thorondor will be going to the stars and I...I can't follow..."

Gwaine's shoulders slumped and he turned his gaze away from Asghar, looking out at the ocean, ignoring the thoughtful stare that Asghar was giving him.

"Lord Thorondor spoke to me about this," said Asghar. "This is why I came to talk to you. You say you can't follow our lord...I'm here to tell you that you can."

Hope flared in Gwaine's heart. "What are you talking about?"

"It is true that you are too old for the gene-seed, but we can...enhance you," said Asghar. "You would not be a true Astartes...but close. If you wish it, Lord Thorondor has asked that this be done for you."

"I don't need charity," said Gwaine bitterly. "You'd do this for me because of your Primarch's sentimental attachment to me?"

"_Our_ Primarch," corrected Asghar calmly. He studied Gwaine for a moment before continuing. "The Second Legion as you can expect, is one of the older Legions. We've already established our traditions, our structure, our _modus operandi_ and we already have numerous victory honours under our belt. But now that we've found Lord Thorondor, we're expecting changes to come. Our ranks are expected to swell with Tempestans coming in; they will be integrating with the Terran-born veterans."

Asghar looked out over the ocean, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I know you Tempestans are a proud people; your brave commander and soldiers' response to our...visit, is testament to that. But our veterans are proud too. They've fought on numerous worlds. There will be some friction."

"What are you getting at, Legion Master?"

"I am saying that your presence would help smooth the integration; the Tempestans know you, respect you. You are a hero second only to the Storm Lord. I've read your service record; you are great leader and general. Your presence would be an invaluable addition to the Second Legion."

Gwaine stared silently out at the ocean for a long moment. "Wouldn't the Legion simply accept Lord Thorondor's word?"

"We would," Asghar nodded. "But there would still be underlying tensions. The Terrans might fear that favouritism would be shown to the Tempestans, and vice versa. Lord Thorondor is aware of this and has spoken to me of it."

"So Thor went to you about it then?" asked Gwaine, hurt in his voice.

"He would've asked you too, but he knows you've been avoiding him since you were rejected for the gene-seed implantation," replied Asghar with a bite of impatience in his voice. "Lord Thorondor plans to add four new companies to the existing eight...and one elite company; one that would be under his personal command, made up of the best warriors in the Legion from all companies, both Terran and Tempestan."

"And I would lead this company," deduced Gwaine.

Asghar nodded. "You'd be equal to me in rank. This will help to dispel any potential tension between the Terrans and Tempestans."

"It's a good idea," admitted Gwaine. He hesitated. "How long will the...enhancements keep me alive?"

"I can't be sure of the exact number, but I'd say nearly triple the live expectancy of the average human," answered Asghar. "You would be able to follow our lord to the stars, Lightning Rider."

Gwaine was silent for a long moment until Asghar became impatient.

"Well? What do you say?"

Gwaine looked Asghar in the eye. "I have a condition, Legion Master."

"Oh?"

"If we are to be truly equal," said Gwaine. "Then you stop calling me Lightning Rider, and call me Gwaine."

Gwaine offered his hand to the towering Astartes. Asghar smiled.

"Then you must call me Asghar...Gwaine."

The Astartes took Gwaine's hand, enveloping it effortlessly as Astartes and man both shook hands.


	18. Brothers II

My apologies, but this is a pretty short chapter. I know some people have complained to me about my chapters being short and while I could blame the fact that I'm writing a thesis at the same time I'm writing this fanfic; the truth is I don't like to drag on a chapter once I feel it's story has been told just to make it longer. My humblest apologies, but I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

**Brothers II  
**

"My lord…what you ask is just…" stammered tech-priest Oric Halcum. While his face had little vestiges of humanity left on it; his eyes replaced by bionic eyes that gleamed blue and his mouth covered with a vox-grill, the stammering was more than enough indication of his distress despite the monotonous tone.

Thorondor towered over the tech-priest, smiling. He patted the stammering Martian on the shoulder. "I have the utmost confidence in you, Master Halcum."

"But there are logistical problems!" protested the tech-priest. "Living space, food and maintenance! And your request for any technologies we can use to enhance them...with all due respect my lord, it's preposterous. We already have Stormbirds and Thunderhawks available so..."

"The Storm Eagles will be an integral part of the elite company I have in mind," said Thorondor. "We will need a sizable roost aboard of our ships to house them and any technology you have to increase their deadliness and effectiveness in battle will be most splendid."

"But...the numbers you've given me..." blurted Oric; if he still had his organic eyes, he would have been crying. "We'd need an entire ship to house the Eagles!"

"Then that is what we will do," answered Thorondor, his smile widening. "See? You've already solved the housing problem. Now I am certain you can handle the rest; I leave it in your most capable hands, Master Halcum."

Cutting off any further protest by the tech priest with a charming but forceful smile, Thorondor ushered him out.

Shutting the door on the Martian, Thorondor looked around his empty chambers. He had never quite bothered to organise it and as a result, there were scattered documents and reports strewn all over his desk and the tables and even a few on the floor.

Alone, Thorondor allowed himself to mentally review what he had learned of the Imperium.

He had already learned that the once-mythical Terra is the heart of the Imperium; housing the continental-sized (such a scale was still beyond Thorondor's ability to grasp) monument known as the Imperial Palace. He had learned of the Astronomican, the beacon that guided the Imperial ships through the alternate dimension known as only the Warp. He had learned of Luna, once known as simply the Moon, one of the earliest celestial bodies that Mankind had first settled and also of Mars, home to the Mechanicum.

The tech priests of the Mechanicum were an interesting bunch, mused Thorondor. Outwardly they hardly resembled humans, but whenever they came across some previously unknown piece of technology (which was very rare on Tempestas); they acted like excited children discovering a delightful treat.

The technology they possessed was astounding. Already they had provided solutions to various problems on Tempestas that Thorondor had been able to formulate, but been unable to enact due to the lack of technology available.

Thorondor's smile faded a little as he also ran a mental check on the military technology of the Imperium. He had learned of weapons capable of killing thousands in mere seconds, weapons capable razing continents and boiling oceans and indeed, capable of shattering worlds.

It unnerved him a little.

And then there was the Emperor; the man who Asghar had described as the Master of Mankind and Thorondor's father.

When Thorondor had learned that the Emperor's goal was to unify the entire galaxy under his rule, Thorondor had asked one simple question.

How big was the galaxy?

The answer had nearly wiped the near-permanent smile from his face.

There were _thousands_, _tens _of thousands, perhaps even _hundreds_ of thousands; some as big, some smaller, some many times the size of Tempestas and the Emperor sought to conquer _all_ of them for the sake of Mankind.

It had taken twenty years for Thorondor to unify Tempestas. How long would it take to unify a galaxy?

But of the Emperor himself, while it was easy enough for Thorondor to find information about his deeds, there was very little about the man himself. The Emperor, despite his lofty position as the ruler of the Imperium, was shrouded in mystery.

The door to his chambers opened, jarring Thorondor from his thoughts as he turned to see his fellow Primarch striding through.

Leman Russ, the Wolf King, Primarch of the Sixth Legion Astartes known as the _Vlka Fenryka_, was someone who in terms of personality was very different from Thorondor. Russ was brash, aggressive, and belligerent and his constant posturing at times grated on the Storm Lord's nerves. Despite that, following their duel on Left Peak, Russ had borne no ill-will from the fight and Thorondor had found himself warming to the Wolf King. Russ was honest, open and coarse, quick to bare his teeth in a threatening snarl and just as quick to throw back his head and roar with laughter.

For the first time in Thorondor's life, he had found someone who was not awed by him. He had found someone who did not see him in a lofty light, or as a marvel of nature.

Russ had simply seen him as a fellow Primarch.

A brother.

Russ grinned at Thorondor. "I saw Oric passing by just a few minutes ago. He looked unhappy; what outrageous request did you make of him this time?"

"I only asked that he find ways to adapt our Storm Eagles into the Imperium's way of war," answered Thorondor, smiling. "How is that unreasonable?"

"You'd bring your overgrown birds to do battle in _Uppland_?" asked Russ with a growling chuckle.

Thorondor didn't understand the word, but he assumed it meant the place where the stars dwelt. "Just as you bring your...what do you call them? Wolves? This is the same thing."

Russ shrugged. "But our wolves don't take up so much damned space and give us logistical nightmares."

The two Primarchs chuckled for a moment at that before Russ became serious.

"If you are already planning that far ahead, have you accepted what we told you?" asked the Wolf King.

"Only some," answered Thorondor. "I won't commit completely until I meet the Emperor."

Russ chuckled again. "Oh, you will; commit I mean"

"You seem very confident of that."

"Why shouldn't I be?" asked Russ, shrugging. "It is our _wyrd_; to lead our father's armies across the stars and conquer them for Mankind. A worthy quest; one that the _skjalds _will tell stories about by the fire for centuries to come."

Thorondor's smiled widened. Russ often used words that Thorondor didn't understand. From what he had learned; Russ's homeworld of Fenris was a land that was even harsher than Tempestas. Its people were scattered into different tribes across the globe and eked a living through the seasonal continental changes with their own customs and language. Thorondor supposed Russ couldn't help slipping back into Fenrisian every now and then. Another thing that the Storm Lord had noted was despite the secular nature of the Imperial Truth championed by the Imperium, Russ and the Wolves of Fenris themselves seemed to belief in a sort of higher power.

The Fenrisians seemed to be deeply spiritual people in their own way.

"So why have you came to see me, Russ?" asked Thorondor. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I came to say farewell brother," answered Russ. "The Crusade calls, and my Wolves and I grow restless."

"You're leaving?" asked Thorondor, genuinely dismayed.

If Russ saw it, he made no remark on it. "Aye, Asghar and the Army detachment attached to the Second will remain here…they are _your _Legion after all."

"But what about the Emperor?" asked Thorondor. "Won't you stay to greet him as well?"

Russ gave Thorondor a smile that was almost regretful. "As much as I would like to see the Allfather again, I can't. There are worlds to conquer and it is the duty of the Rout to see it done."

Though it had only been barely a month since they had first met, Thorondor had found it easy to connect with the Wolf King. A bond had formed between them, as naturally as breathing between the two Primarchs because their strong warrior nature. Thorondor was genuinely saddened to see Leman Russ leave.

Sensing it, Russ clapped Thorondor on the shoulder. "We'll see each other again soon, brother. Someone needs to show you how real warriors fight."

Thorondor's smile widened as he shook his head. "I didn't know that running one's mouth is a trait of a real warrior. But if it was, then you and your Wolves are definitely the finest warriors in the Imperium."

Russ laughed.

II II II

Leman Russ and the Wolves accompanying him departed Tempestas, leaving behind the Second Legion Astartes and the 85th Expedition to handle preparations for Thorondor and the Emperor's impending visit.

The two Primarchs had faced each other amidst a crowd of onlookers; to Russ's amusement, Commander Brand had been among them. The commander stood straight with his chin up in an air of defiance. He was still smarting from embarrassment at the way he had been treated by the Astartes when they arrived.

Thorondor and Russ clapped each other on the shoulder.

"I will see you soon, brother," said Russ.

Thorondor nodded and Russ turned away to board his ship that was called a Stormbird. As the Primarch of the Sixth Legion left, Thorondor felt melancholic; the departure of the only being truly his equal on Tempestas had him feeling lonely.

As the Stormbird rose to the sky, gradually vanishing into the Eternal Storm, Thorondor found himself wishing the Emperor would arrive soon so that he could learn more of himself and the other Primarchs.

His brothers.

It was strange, before he could only call Gwaine his brother. Now he knew he had two others and another seventeen yet to be found.

Thorondor's smile widened as he raised his hand in a gesture of farewell, despite knowing his brother wouldn't see it.


	19. The Emperor of Mankind

**The Emperor of Mankind**

In the years to come, there would be many legends surrounding the day the Emperor came to Tempestas. The most common one was how the Eternal Storm itself parted for the Emperor, allowing the light of Tempesta's sun to stream down upon the gathered people; the raindrops glittering like diamonds in the golden light. Another was how the oceans themselves calmed at the Emperor's arrival.

But there was one legend widely accepted as fact.

It was the day that the Storm Lord's famously near-omnipresent smile vanished completely from his face.

II II II

Thorondor and his honour guard waited patiently as the rain pattered down heavily on the Storm Hold. Asghar stood at the head of a veteran squad from the first company, as still as a statue. Beside them were Gwaine and several veteran Storm Riders from the Thunder Bearers. Gwaine's partner, Deor and the other Storm Eagles were circling the sky above watchfully. Gwaine already stood nearly as tall as Asghar and his muscle mass had also greatly increased as a result of the gene-enhancement he had undergone. He still had several procedures to go through before he was truly a pseudo-Astartes, but Thorondor couldn't help but marvel at the changes in just the last several months alone.

Behind the gathered Astartes and Thunder Bearers were a gathering of officials from the main army of the Thunder Bearers. At Thorondor's insistence, Firiel was also present, and Commander Brand had been unofficially appointed as her chaperon for the duration of the welcoming ceremony much to the amusement of the other officials; but he bore it with great dignity, raising Thorondor's esteem of him greatly.

Further behind them were a row of Astartes from the Second Legion, forming a perimeter to keep the crowd that had gathered back.

Thorondor was clad in his battle armour, which had just been returned from the armourers. The granite-grey armour was inferior to the power-armour worn by the Astartes, but it had served Thorondor throughout the war, and he would have as its final duty to bear witness to the Emperor's coming. For the same reason, he held the power-glaive that had served him in the war; the one that had killed Ajuhal, in his right hand. A new and far superior set of armour and weapon was being forged for him, but he wanted to wear his old gear one last time.

Garuda stood watch over Thorondor, positioning himself just behind his partner so that the Storm Eagle loomed like an oversized, avian-shaped throne.

Despite the crowd that had gathered, silence reigned; broken only by the sound of the rain falling. Thunder rumbled occasionally and lightning flashed, but the people remained silent; patiently waiting.

It was the actions of Deor and the other Storm Eagles that first notified the people of the impending arrival. They suddenly ceased their circling and took towards the Storm, calling out. Garuda looked up sharply but did not react otherwise. The people gathered below watched as Deor and the other Storm Eagles vanished into the roiling clouds of the Eternal Storm, collectively holding their breath in anticipation.

The vessel that descended from the Storm was shaped like one of the Storm Eagles. It was clearly an Imperium vessel, but far more intricately designed than any Thorondor had seen thus far. As it descended, the Storm Eagles flew in an honour guard formation with it; something Thorondor had never seen them do without a rider before. Once the vessel landed, the Eagles broke off to resume circling the area once more.

A door in the right side of the vessel which was facing Thorondor slid open with a hiss and a gangplank extended from it. The anticipation in the air was palpable.

The being that emerged from the aircraft was only slightly taller than Thorondor. He was clad in an ornate pearl-white power armour with a crimson eye emblazoned on the breastplate. A black giant wolf pelt flowed from his shoulders like a cape. The being was bald and tanned, and his grey eyes surveyed the crowd before coming to a rest on Thorondor. A smile, revealing perfect white teeth, appeared on his face.

The being strode towards Thorondor, his easy stride and the aura that exuded from him reminding onlookers of an approaching tidal wave. But when he reached Thorondor, it was as though his aura meshed with the Storm Lord's to form a great maelstrom that threatened to pull all into its depth; such was the presence of the two.

"You must be Thorondor," said the being, his voice warm.

Thorondor's smile widened. The being facing him was remarkable, but his presence was more akin to Russ. Thorondor instinctively knew that this was not the Emperor which left only one other possibility.

"You must be Horus Lupercal," said Thorondor.

The being, Horus, nodded. "Please, just call me Horus."

He hesitated for a moment, before placing a hand on the Storm Lord's shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Brother, it warms my heart to finally meet you. I've heard the reports from Russ, and while he's not given to exaggeration, he's definitely done a poor job of describing you to us."

Thorondor's smile grew warmer. "Russ was simply displeased that I scratched his armour on our first meeting."

"Did you, now?" said Horus, laughing. "You must tell me about it sometime. But there's someone else who wants to see you."

Still smiling, Horus stepped aside and looked back to the aircraft. Thorondor followed his gaze and his breath caught in his throat.

Golden light streamed from the entryway of the vessel. A shape stood silhouetted in the doorway, standing still for a moment before stepping forward.

As the golden light bathed him, Thorondor felt warmth spreading throughout his body, lifting away the ever-present chill of Tempestas. His heart thumped mightily in his chest, the sound of it filling his ears like rumble of the Storm and he was dimly aware that Horus was bowing, and everyone else was kneeling.

As the being of golden light drew closer, Garuda made a crooning sound before bowing his head so that his beak touched the top of Thorondor's head lightly, pushing him forward; closer to the source of the radiance.

As such close proximity, Thorondor was overwhelmed. His smile vanished completely as he dropped his glaive and Thorondor fell to his knees, his head bowed. The golden being stood over him silently, majestic power radiating from him.

"It's you," whispered Thorondor reverently. "It's you...father."

Mighty hands gauntleted in gold touched Thorondor's shoulders. When the voice spoke, it spoke with such loving warmth that nearly made Thorondor weep to hear it.

"Rise, my son, you need not kneel to me."

The hands gently touched Thorondor's chin and lifted his face so that he may look into the golden eyes of the Emperor of Mankind.

Thorondor saw the power lurking behind them; the ageless wisdom mirrored within them, the compassion, the fierce burning determination and love all reflected within them. Thorondor knew that Leman Russ had been right. It was his fate to serve his father.

"By the Eternal Storm of Tempestas and my life, I pledge that I, Thorondor and all who would follow me to serve you, father."

The Emperor nodded. "I gratefully accept your pledge; but let it not only be to me, let it also to be to the Imperium and all Mankind."

Thorondor bowed his head once more. "I so pledge."

"Then rise, my son," said the Emperor, pulling Thorondor to his feet. "Rise as Lord of the Second Legion."

Thorondor stood and faced his father.

"By your will, father."

The Emperor smiled.

II II II

Father and son sat facing each other; alone, Horus had excused himself to give them privacy.

Thorondor studied the Emperor intently.

The golden light that had exuded from the Emperor's very being had dimmed; although a hint of it shone on the ornate golden power armour that he wore; like gold lit by soft light, despite the fact it was nightfall.

Now that he was no longer overwhelmed and blinded by the Emperor's radiance, Thorondor could see that his father; apart from the majestic power armour he wore, to all outward appearance was remarkably plain. His skin was dark brown in contrast to Thorondor's paler complexion; though his hair was the same shade of ebony black as Thorondor's. His face did not stand out in any way; indeed, Thorondor believed that if he had passed the Emperor among a crowd of people equal in size, he might not have even noticed his father.

Except the eyes.

At first, Thorondor had believed the Emperor's eyes to be golden because of the light that had shone from it. But now that the light had vanished, Thorondor had initially believed it to be the same shade of grey as his, but as he looked into them, he noticed that no matter how hard he concentrated, he could not truly pinpoint the true colour of the Emperor's eyes. But beyond that, he could sense the power that had overwhelmed him so locked behind them, dormant for the moment.

"I am impressed, Thorondor," said the Emperor. His voice was surprisingly ordinary, like his face, pleasing to the ear but completely unremarkable save for the faint hint of the majesty of the Emperor underlying it. "Unifying a world as fractured as this is no mean feat."

"I did not do it alone, father," answered Thorondor. "I made it this far thanks to those around me, and the sacrifices of countless more."

The Emperor leaned forward. "Tell me of them."

Thorondor hesitated for a moment; it wasn't that he didn't want to tell the Emperor; it was that he had never confided in anyone completely before, not even Firiel or Gwaine. But as he looked into the eyes of his father, he realised that he could hold nothing back from him. More importantly, he didn't want to.

So Thorondor told the Emperor everything; about Gwaine, Firiel, Torwald and the other people that have helped shaped him. He even spoke of everything that had happened, from he and Gwaine's misadventure with the giant turtle, how they met the Thunder Bearer, how Thorondor came to be partnered with Garuda, Torwald's dream of uniting Tempestas and the whole war that had happened to make that dream come true.

The Emperor listened, making no comment; only nodding where appropriate or asking Thorondor to clarify a point every now and then. But when Thorondor spoke of Torwald and his title, he noticed that the faintest hint of sadness glimmered in the Emperor's eyes.

"Is there something wrong, father?" asked Thorondor.

The Emperor looked taken aback, as though he had not expected Thorondor to notice. The Emperor gazed at his son thoughtfully for a moment.

"This Torwald," said the Emperor. "He was a man of great vision; a man who could see past the shackles of tradition towards a greater future. It is a shame that he died."

"It is," agreed Thorondor. "He would have been honoured to meet you."

"But his title, 'Thunder Bearer'..." commented the Emperor, trailing off for a moment.

"What of it?" asked Thorondor.

"It brings back old memories," said the Emperor, smiling wistfully. "Of a time before the Imperium; when I was fighting to unify Terra, I had a vast army from all walks of life; but first and foremost among them were the Thunder Warriors."

"Thunder Warriors?" repeated Thorondor with wonder.

"Yes, a title not too different from your Thunder Bearers," said the Emperor. "They were the earliest incarnations of the Astartes; peerless in all matters of war. They swept aside all my enemies in the conquest of Terra."

The Emperor leant back and closed his eyes as he immersed himself in his memories. "The greatest of them was Arik Taranis. No one distinguished themselves in the Unification War like he did. Eventually, he became known as the Lightning Bearer."

"Not too different from Thunder Bearer," remarked Thorondor.

"Yes," nodded the Emperor. "Remarkable isn't it? Two men separated by light-years on different worlds sharing a similar title."

"Perhaps it is fate," suggested Thorondor.

"There is no fate but what we make," answered the Emperor with a hint of reproach in his voice.

Thorondor inclined his head in agreement. "What happened to Taranis and the Thunder Warriors?"

Sadness washed across the Emperor's face. "They did not survive the Unification War. They fought and died heroically in the Battle of Mount Ararat, the final battle for Unity. The Astartes are their successors."

All of a sudden, Thorondor felt unease creep within him. Instinct was telling him that the Emperor was not being entirely truthful; but the sorrow on his face was genuine and heartfelt as far as Thorondor could tell. But there was also another emotion on the Emperor's face that anyone else would have missed, but Thorondor just barely spotted it.

It looked like regret.

"Now that you've been found, the Second Legion will need a name," said the Emperor, abruptly changing the subject. "Have you thought of one?"

"I thought we needed to earn our names?" asked Thorondor. "That is what Asghar told me."

"Some Legions have already earned their names," agreed the Emperor. "But as they were created in your image, you have a right to name them; like it was with Russ and his Legion. Horus too could change the name of the Luna Wolves if he so desired."

"I see," said Thorondor. "Then yes, I have thought of a name for the Second Legion."

"Tell me," said the Emperor.

Thorondor told him.

The Emperor smiled. "Most fitting indeed. Then I have a gift for you; one befitting of you and the Second Legion, I think."


	20. The Storm Eagles

Another short chapter I'm afraid...but I hope you enjoy it

* * *

**The Storm Eagles**

The Iron Roost throughout its history had borne witness to the existence of countless heroes in Tempestas's history, which of course, included Torwald the Thunder Bearer, Gwaine the Lightning Rider and Thorondor the Storm Lord.

But on one fateful day, it bore witness to a gathering unlike any other in its long history.

Twenty thousand Astartes that made up the existing eight companies of the Second Legion were arrayed on the flat peak of the Iron Roost beneath the rumbling clouds of the Eternal Storm, creating a sea of steel-grey. Each Legionary went bareheaded, heedless of the rain that pattered down on their faces. Gathered behind them were the ten thousand recruits who would make up the four new companies of the Second Legion, the first generation of Tempestan Astartes. They were clad only in grey uniforms, and were still dwarfed by the Terran veterans, but each one stood proud and tall, hoping to do their lord and homeworld credit. All of them looked upon their Primarch with pride.

Thorondor stood before them on a stage, his eyes taking in every rank and file, a proud smile on his face. Skull-drones floated over the gathered warriors, preparing to transmit his word by vox. Behind him were Asghar and Gwaine, standing side by side, as still as stone. Perched on a rock outcropping, looming over the entire scene was Garuda. Countless other Storm Eagles circled above watchfully.

The Emperor had declined to attend the gathering, stating that such a ceremony should be kept private within the Legion itself.

Thorondor took a deep breath and began. "For countless millennia, Tempestas and Terra have been separated by Old Night. The people of this world persevered through endless years of hardship; carving out a living amidst the violent seas, the sky raiders and violent temper of the Eternal Storm."

Thorondor paced along the length of the stage and every eye followed him, captivated by the Primarch's words and his presence.

"Yet the true hardship the people of Tempestas faced was not what the world could throw at us, but the actions of our own people. For too long, the Storm Riders, who should have been the best of us, exploited the hardships of their own people for personal gain. For too long, we have allowed it to happen."

The Storm Lord halted; his gaze on the ground and his eyes shut as he relived his memories.

"But all it took was the will and vision of one man to break down the seemingly ironclad shackles of tradition; a man who saw Tempestas united and the Storm Riders fulfilling their rightful role as guardians of its people. A man like Torwald the Thunder Bearer."

At the mention of Torwald's name, the Tempestans who were gathered there raised their fists and thumped their chests with a cry, saluting the Thunder Bearer.

Thorondor nodded. "The Thunder Bearer did not live to see his vision realised, but he passed on his will to me; to every Tempestan who lives to this day and we have achieved it. Tempestas is a united world, thanks to the sacrifice of every man and woman who bears the Thunder Bearer's will within their hearts."

Thorondor paused and gestured to the Terran Astartes gathered before him.

"Yet far away on Terra; the beloved birthplace of Mankind, the same thing has happened. The Emperor, beloved by all, unified a world torn apart by strife and war. The Emperor brought order to a world in chaos."

Thorondor turned his gaze to the Eternal Storm.

"Yet where one would be content to rule a world, the Emperor saw further; his thoughts turned to the countless worlds that Mankind have made their homes. He knows the dangers they face in a harsh and uncaring galaxy. So the Emperor created the Imperium, to bring all Mankind under the aegis of Terra."

Thorondor turned his gaze back to the gathered Legion; his storm-grey eyes a reflection of the Storm above.

"That is why he has created you, the Astartes, the finest warriors that humanity has to offer. That is why he created me, to bear his will and vision to the stars."

Thorondor's smile widened.

"You are the Second Legion; the greatest warriors of Terra and Tempestas. You will bear the proud legacy of the birth-sphere and the Storm World. To symbolise that, the Emperor himself has granted us a gift."

At Thorondor's words, Asghar unfurled a banner and held it high. It bore the head of an eagle with four bolts of lightning reaching stretching to each corner upon a red background. Upon seeing it, the Terran-born Astartes gasped with recognition and awe.

"This was the symbol of the Thunder Warriors; the proud army that unified Terra in the Emperor's name. It is the Emperor's will that we inherit and bring this honoured banner back to the fires of war!"

The Legion cheered with approval until Thorondor raised his hands for silence.

"Yet their names have already been etched into the history of Mankind. We will not lay claim to that, nor will we lay claim to name of the Thunder Bearers who, like the Thunder Warriors, have unified Tempestas through the brutality of war."

Thorondor turned his gaze to the Storm Eagles that circled above.

"Though we cannot bear their names, we will bear their symbol and legacy with us. We will carry the legacy of Terra and bathe the lost strands of Mankind in the radiance of Enlightenment! We will carry the Storm of Tempestas in our hearts and unleash its fury against all the enemies of Mankind! From this day forward, the Second Legion will forever be known as the Storm Eagles!"

The Legion did not clap, they did not cheer.

They _roared_.

Their voices melded into one great roar that shook the Iron Roost and drowned out even the Eternal Storm itself. Garuda raised his head and let forth a cry, as did every Storm Eagle that soared above.

When the sound finally ended, Asghar and Gwaine both stepped forward. They bowed when Thorondor turned to them with a questioningly look.

"If you'll oblige us, my lord?" asked Asghar.

Still looking puzzled, Thorondor nodded and stepped aside, allowing the two to step forward to face the Legion. They both exchanged glances and nodded.

As one, they spoke, raising their fists to their hearts.

"_By the will of the Emperor of Mankind and the Lord of the Storm;_

_Be we born of Terra or Tempestas born;_

_We stand as one beneath the Storm."_

As the words were transmitted to the Second Legion, Thorondor nodded in understanding; it was an oath, a litany to reaffirm the loyalty of the Legion, regardless of their world of origin, to the Imperium.

To the Emperor.

To all of Mankind.

Understanding this, the Legion imitated the gesture and the Storm Eagles spoke as one.

"We stand as one beneath the Storm!"

* * *

Now finally I can get some fun facts about the Second Legion (or the Storm Eagles as I've named them) I've been harbouring in my mind out.

Legion II – The Storm Eagles

Primarch – Thorondor

Flagship – _The Eternal Storm_

Legion Colours – Dark blue with steel grey shoulder plates

Elite Company – The Storm Riders led by Gwaine

12 Battle Companies (each about 2500 Legionaries)

1st Company Captain – Asghar (Terran, formerly Legion Master)

2nd Company Captain – Azan (Terran)

3rd Company Captain – Razek (Terran)

4th Company Captain – Mahad (Terran)

5th Company Captain – Shin (Terran)

6th Company Captain – Korhal (Terran)

7th Company Captain – Zarul (Terran)

8th Company Captain – Wira (Terran)

9th Company Captain – Adalgrim the Ancient (Tempestan)

10th Company Captain – Storr (Tempestan)

11th Company Captain – Bard the Windblade (Tempestan)

12th Company Captain – Gunnar the Fearless (Tempestan)

Legion Combat Doctrine:

Specialises in aerial assault and rapid aerial deployment; high concentration of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks. Large number of assault marines and frequent use of the spear-tip tactic adapted from the Luna Wolves strategy.


	21. Departures and Farewells

**Departures and Farewells  
**

Firiel sat alone in her quarters at the Storm Hold, her gazed fixed on the steel necklace in her wrinkled hands. The chain was made from the strongest steel available on Tempestas, but the icon attached to the chain; a globe within a jagged circle; the symbol of Tempestas, enshrouded by the Eternal Storm, was made from a metal that came from beyond the world itself.

It came from the metal of the container that had brought Thorondor to Tempestas all those years ago.

Firiel meant to give it to her son, but their last meeting had not gone well at all.

II II II

When Thorondor had introduced Firiel to the Emperor, she had felt as though her heart was seconds away from failing completely. But then, the Master of Mankind had gently taken her frail hands in his own massive ones, and gently pressed his lips to them. Firiel felt all the aches and pains in her body fade away in the presence of the Emperor, replaced by bliss.

"I thank you, my lady," said the Emperor, his voice like music to Firiel's ears. "I thank you for taking great care of my son, for teaching him well."

Firiel had struggled to find something to say in presence of so glorious a being; but in the end, she had said only one simple thing.

"Thorondor is my son, too."

The Emperor had smiled then, and inclined his head respectfully.

A week later, Thorondor had visited her, dressed in a simple tunic and a pair of breeches that looked out of place on him.

Thorondor had watched her as she bustled about the kitchen-place, cooking a meal for both of them.

"You don't have to do that, mother," said Thorondor. "I could get someone else to do it."

Firiel snorted. "None of these younglings know which end of a saucepan to hold; too busy learning how to wage war."

She pointed her ladle at Thorondor accusingly. "That's all your fault of course."

Thorondor's smile widened as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He looked around the room; he had tried to give his mother his own quarters or some of the more lavish ones for her stay at the Storm Hold, but Firiel had refused them all, insisting that her quarters must have a kitchen. They had finally found an unused one near the middle level of the Hold; it was bigger than the old cave at Left Peak where Thorondor had grown up, but it reminded him of it.

His smile softened at the memories.

Firiel saw it and smiled. "There you go again, smiling to yourself for no good reason. Make yourself useful and help your old mother, will you?"

If anyone had walked in then, they would have seen the strangest sight indeed; Thorondor the Storm Lord, ruler of Tempestas and Primarch of the Storm Eagles, chopping up vegetables and laying the table, meekly taking orders from a little old woman who barely reached past his waist.

For Firiel, it had been a long time since she had her son back with her, simply being her son; not the greatest hero of Tempestas, not one the sons of the Emperor; but simply Thorondor, _her _son.

They had settled down to a hearty meal together and ate in companionable silence. After they were done, they both stood side by side, washing the dishes together.

"It's been a long time since we've done this, hasn't it?" said Thorondor.

"Well, you have a world to run, a Legion to lead," answered Firiel. "Can't have someone as high up as you doing the dishes now, can we? That'll take the prestige away."

Thorondor chuckled. "Maybe every leader should do it every now and then, so that they never forget the simple pleasures of life."

"Hmph, I don't remember you being so agreeable about washing dishes," remarked Firiel, smiling a little. "You probably spent half your childhood coming up with ways to avoid these sorts of chores."

Thorondor laughed as Firiel shook her head with amusement at the memories. They continued washing the dishes in silence after their mirth subsided. Eventually, as Firiel was drying the last dish, Thorondor spoke up again.

"Mother, I am leaving soon."

Firiel paused for the briefest second, before resuming wiping the dish. "When?"

"Two weeks from now."

Pain flared in Firiel's heart at the thought of Thorondor's departure. She had felt it once when her son had first left to join the Storm Riders of the Iron Roost; but then, despite the distance between them, Thorondor could still return to her from time to time. But now, Thorondor was leaving not only her, but _Tempestas_. How could her son return to her if he was away on some alien world?

"I see, so soon?" Firiel managed to say, doing her best to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Thorondor heard it anyway. "Mother, I've asked fa...I've asked the Emperor, and he said that I may bring anyone I wish. No one in the Legion and the Expedition can gainsay me, anyway. Mother, I'd like you to come with me."

Firiel turned to Thorondor, her expression incredulous. "Come with you? You mean leave Tempestas?"

"Yes," said Thorondor, his smile hopeful.

"But what would I do?" asked Firiel. "I know nothing about those Imperial ships or what sort of duties they have..."

"We can find something for you, mother," said Thorondor eagerly, taking hold of Firiel's hands. "You'll come then?"

"Thorondor, I'm an old woman," said Firiel. "I don't have much time left..."

"But it doesn't matter," said Thorondor. "The Imperium has these juvenat treatments that will make you live longer; make you young again. You've seen what they've done for Gwaine. You can follow me to the stars, mother. We don't have to be separated."

Thorondor was looking at her hopefully, but Firiel looked away. It was tempting; the chance to be with her son for a very long time; the chance to never be parted from him again. But the thought of leaving Tempestas, of lingering on in life through unnatural means frightened her. But as she turned back to look into the storm-grey eyes of Thorondor, she knew that was not the real reason. Though Thorondor was now the ruler of a world, the lord of the Second Legion and a great hero to the people of Tempestas; Firiel knew that deep down, he was still the same little boy who needed his mother.

The same little boy who was looking at her hopefully from behind the mask of a Primarch. Firiel knew that Thorondor could not grow further if he could not let her go.

"Thorondor," said Firiel softly. "I can't go with you."

Thorondor's hopeful smile vanished completely and its sudden disappearance sent chills down Firiel's spine.

"Why not?" whispered Thorondor.

"I'm too old to go traipsing across the oceans of Tempestas, let alone the galaxy," said Firiel. "I'm tired, Thorondor; I want to rest."

"But I told you, the juvenat treatments..."

Firiel raised her hand to silence Thorondor. "I...I don't want to take them. We all have our allotted time in life, Thorondor; some of us longer than others. But in the end, one way or another, we all have to go."

"But that's ridiculous," said Thorondor, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "If we all have our 'allotted time', then life-extending technology like those available in the Imperium would be impossible."

"I don't pretend to understand it completely," answered Firiel calmly. "But all I know is that I feel that my time is coming to an end, Thorondor; and I'm fine with that."

"But...but," stammered Thorondor, the first time Firiel had ever heard him done so, and it broke her heart to hear it. "What about me? Don't you want to be with me? Don't you want to see me bring worlds into the Imperium?"

"Thorondor, you are the best thing that has ever happened in my life," said Firiel. "From the day I picked you up from that metal container, I knew that I had already found the greatest treasure that I could ever hope for. I've already seen you surpass the Thunder Bearer, I've seen you unite Tempestas...I am content."

"If I am your treasure, if I am the best thing that has ever happened to you, why won't you come?" cried Thorondor, his voice rising as he was unable to keep the hurt from creeping in. "Why? Why have you resigned yourself to death, when I can save you?"

"You don't understand, Thorondor," said Firiel softly. "Even if you can make my body young again, this is where I am weary."

Firiel touched her temple. "I am weary here. Do you really want me to cling on to life when my mind and soul are already wasting away?"

"I..."

"And...Tempestas is my home, Thorondor," continued Firiel. "I was born here, I grew up here...and I will die here too. It is not my fate to see other worlds...only this world beneath the Storm."

"There is no fate but what we make," said Thorondor, bitterly echoing what the Emperor had said to him.

Firiel nodded. "This is what I choose."

Thorondor stared at his mother in disbelief for a moment, before looking down at the floor. Firiel went to him and gently lifted his chin, having to tip-toe a little to do so.

"My dear boy, you've grown up and you've achieved so much. You'll achieve more. You don't need me anymore."

Thorondor stared at her silently before turning away. He left the room without another word.

II II II

Firiel sighed, turning the necklace over in her hands. She hadn't seen Thorondor since then and today was the day of his departure.

Firiel got up, grimacing as her joints ached. She picked up her walking stick and headed for the door.

If her son was too angry and upset to come and say goodbye to her, then she would go and say goodbye to him.

II II II

Thorondor's eyes surveyed the crowd through the falling rain, looking out for a particular woman he called mother. He had wanted to go to her to beg her forgiveness for his behaviour, but he had been too upset at first, and then he been caught up in the preparations for his departure. Horus had already departed the day before to prepare things for the Emperor and Thorondor's impending arrival. Garuda and the other Storm Eagles had already been sent up to one of the ships in orbit, newly renamed the _Iron Roost_.He sighed sadly when he failed to spot Firiel yet again.

"She's not here yet?"

Thorondor turned to see Gwaine, who had now reached the height and mass very close to an Astartes. Gwaine was clad in a power armour bearing the new colours of the Storm Eagles, a dark shade of blue to represent the seas of Tempestas and the shoulder plates coloured grey to represent the Eternal Storm. Thorondor himself was clad in a power armour of similar colours, but far more ornate. His long-time comrade was looking at him with sympathy; Thorondor had told him about what had happened.

"No," answered Thorondor, smiling sadly. "After how I had behaved, I don't blame her."

Gwaine clapped Thorondor on the shoulder. "She's your mother, Thor. She'll be here."

Thorondor smiled back at Gwaine and clapped him on the shoulder in return. "I'm glad you're coming with me, Gwaine."

Gwaine grinned. "Can't let you go around making stupid decisions now, can I? Someone's got to keep an eye on you. I'll see you on the _Eternal Storm_, Thor."

Thorondor chuckled and watched as his friend headed for his Stormbird. He turned back to scan the crowd for Firiel.

The Emperor had already boarded his shuttle and was waiting for Thorondor. The Second Primarch would not be going to his flagship just yet, but instead he would go to the _Imperator Somnium_, the Emperor's flagship. The Emperor's shuttle was surrounded by giants in golden armour the size of Astartes known as the Custodians; the personal guard of the Emperor. More of them formed a perimeter to keep the crowd that had come to watch back. All of them wore conical helmets and were armed with weapons known as the guardian spear; an ornamental weapon that was nonetheless deadly.

Thorondor was alone. The Storm Lord watched silently as the other Stormbirds took off one by one, making for orbit. Eventually, only the Emperor's shuttle was left.

Despairing, Thorondor surveyed the crowd again, but failed to spot Firiel.

One of the Custodians eventually approached him, removing his conical helm. Thorondor recognised the stern, unsmiling grizzled face and the close-cropped hair; Constantin Valdor, the head of the Emperor's bodyguards.

"My lord, it's time," said Valdor, indicating that Thorondor should board the Emperor's vessel.

Thorondor looked around the crowd one more time, but still failed to find her.

"My lord?" repeated Valdor more insistently.

Sighing, Thorondor made his way to the shuttle. Just as he was about to board it however, he heard a voice faintly over the falling rain, a very familiar one. He turned.

II II II

With the help of two soldiers, Firiel managed to make her way to the crowd, only to find her path blocked by one of the intimidating Custodians. The visor lenses looked down at her; cold and pitiless.

"None may proceed beyond this point," said the Custodian.

"Please sir, I am Thorondor's mother, I must..." said Firiel, trying to look around the Custodian to see Thorondor.

"None may proceed beyond this point," repeated the Custodian.

"Please sir, I must speak to my son..."

The Custodian raised his guardian spear and gently but firmly pushed Firiel back.

There was great clang, and the Custodian was sent flying sideways, a great dent in the side of his helm. Thorondor stood protectively before Firiel, his eyes blazing and his smile menacing as he glared down at the Custodian, who slowly got back to his feet.

"If you ever raise your weapon against her again, I'll make sure your head flies separately from your body," warned Thorondor.

Turning back to Firiel, Thorondor's expression softened as he kneeled before her, still towering over her even so.

"Mother, I..." began Thorondor, but Firiel silenced him by pressing her finger to his lips.

"Hush, no need for that," said Firiel. "You were upset...and I'm actually glad that you were."

Smiling at Thorondor's puzzled expression, Firiel continued. "Shows that no matter how far removed from us you may be, you're still human."

Firiel gently placed the necklace she had brought around Thorondor's neck. "Here, take this. Keep the Storm in your heart; keep us all in your heart."

Thorondor smiled; it was a sad one. "Mother...I don't suppose you'd reconsider?"

Firiel shook her head. "You don't need me anymore Thorondor. You can take care of yourself and you have Gwaine and your Legion."

She hugged Thorondor and he returned it gently, mindful of her aching bones.

Firiel kissed him gently on the cheek. "Remember this; you might be fighting under the banner of Terra, but you are still a son of Tempestas. Remember that while you might be one of the Emperor's sons, you are my _only_ son. You'll always be in my thoughts Thorondor."

Firiel released him and took a step back as Thorondor stood.

Mother and son stared at each other silently for a long moment, the rain falling around them.

"When I return, I will show you pictures of Terra and the other worlds," said Thorondor quietly. "I will tell you stories of me and Gwaine's adventures there."

Firiel nodded, smiling. "I look forward to it."

They both knew it was a lie. Deep within their hearts, they both knew that they were seeing each other for the last time.

"Go, my foolish son," said Firiel softly.

Thorondor bowed to her. "Goodbye, mother."

He turned away and made his way to the Emperor's shuttle. As soon as he boarded, it took off, making for Tempestas's orbit.

He did not look back even once the whole time.

Firiel's gaze followed the shuttle until it vanished into the Storm, allowing the falling rain to wash away the tears that had begun to flow.

Aboard the shuttle, the Emperor alone saw the tears that were streaming down Thorondor's face.

* * *

Well, that's it for Primarch II's story for now. Next chapter onwards we'll be returning to Baybar and Primarch XI's story.


	22. The Summit

My apologies for the slightly long break...but it took me a while to figure out how I want this arc to go. In any case, now we return to Primarch XI's story.

As always, I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**The Summit  
**

The city of Ain was abuzz with activity. Cattle herders displayed their finest livestock, calling out their prices to onlookers; the women bustled about preparing food; guard captains briefed their men on issues of security while runners ran along the streets, shouting out news for the biggest event to ever happen in Ain's history.

The Summit.

The twelve main desert tribes have agreed to a meeting for a cooperative venture that would allow them all peaceful access to Ain's water supply in return for various benefits to the city itself. Given the often shifting alliances and hostilities between the various tribes, such a thing was unheard of.

It was all made possible by the man who had come out of the growing town of Nuba, Hayreddin. The remarkable young man had tirelessly negotiated with the tribes for the past six years. The first two had been spent convincing the tribes to agree on a truce that would allow them access to water in turns to prevent violence from breaking out. The remaining three were spent convincing the chieftains of the possibility of a cooperative venture and the final year had been spent convincing them to attend the Summit together. It was a tall order that should have been impossible, but Hayreddin, with the wisdom of Ain's four Elders and his own companions had somehow pulled it off.

Indeed, many believed that it was Hayreddin who had somehow appealed to the chieftains to briefly put aside their differences in order to even consider such a possibility. Anyone who had met the young man would at first be stunned by his beauty, then charmed by his eloquent speech and respectful behaviour. Even the chieftains of the tribes, by all accounts prideful, grim and rough men hardened by the decades of hard living in the desert had found themselves listening whenever Hayreddin spoke in his soft, melodious voice. It was the charisma of the young man that had prevented the chieftains from rejecting the idea of cooperating with the other tribes outright, paving the way for the coming Summit.

However, the gathering of the twelve chieftains who have lived most of their lives in conflict with each other was still a cause for concern, so the Ain's soldiers and security forces had spent much of the time preparing in the event that the situation got out of hand.

As night gradually fell on Ain, anticipation and tension was high within the city.

XI XI XI

Isan walked up the stairs to the apartment where Hayreddin stayed, carrying a tray of food. Sometimes the young man was so caught up in his efforts that he forgot to eat or drink. Not that it seemed to have any particular effect on him.

Balancing the tray on one hand, Isan brushed a lock of stray dark hair out of her eyes. In the six years she had spent in Ain, she had matured into a truly beautiful woman, with her long hair, smooth olive skin, dark eyes; the gazes of men would follow her wherever she went; at least until she opened her mouth to speak as Ravenna would often grumble.

Isan smiled to herself at the thought. She and the hulking warrior had grown closer in the last six years. Though they constantly bickered, they had found themselves spending more and more time with each other; not just during meetings and discussions with Hayreddin, but also to explore the city or the oasis just to wind down from the stress of diplomacy and politics.

Hayreddin had noticed, and often teased them for it; asking if they were actually having an affair behind his back or if they were finally going to tie the knot.

The thought of marrying Ravenna, much to her surprise, did not repulse Isan much; in fact, it did not repulse her at all. If anything, her heart often fluttered at the thought; true, Ravenna was a good bit older than her, but such a thing was common enough, and Ravenna was a good man despite his taciturn, grumpy disposition...

All thoughts fled her mind when she entered Hayreddin's room.

The young man was standing on a balcony overlooking Ain. He was dressed in simple brown robes with his sword tied to his side. There was a light breeze that night, blowing his dark brown hair across his achingly perfect face. His dark brown eyes were shut and his usually charming smile was absent, a small frown in its place. The light of the moon made his sand-pale skin seem to glow.

Isan paused at the door, composing herself. Despite knowing Hayreddin for a long time, she was still stunned by his beauty, which she knew far surpassed her own. _Everyone_ stared at Hayreddin whenever he was present.

They simply couldn't help it.

"I brought you something to eat, Hayreddin," said Isan, setting down the tray on a table in the room.

Hayreddin turned to her, opening his eyes. He smiled at her.

"Thank you, Isan," he said, walking into the room. He paused, staring at her for a moment before smirking. "Where's Ravenna?"

"How would I know?" retorted Isan, blushing a little. "I'm not his keeper."

"Not yet, at any rate," said Hayreddin, grinning. "Maybe once this is all over, perhaps?"

"Be quiet before I shove all this food down your throat," snapped Isan, her cheeks reddening further.

Hayreddin chuckled, settling himself down into one of the couches around the table and helping himself to some dried fruits. "My apologies; please join me."

The two of them sat together for a time, eating quietly.

"So the chieftains arrive tomorrow," said Isan at last. "Ravenna's been coordinating with Ain's security forces to make sure they don't do anything the chieftains will see as offensive."

Isan paused. "Of course, you could've just asked them to come unarmed."

Hayreddin shook his head. "These men live their whole lives in a perpetual state of conflict; being unarmed is the ultimate sign of weakness for them."

"So instead we risk a fight breaking out between the chieftains of the most warlike people in the desert," said Isan, snorting. "Honestly, this whole I'm-a-man-I-must-show-my-sword-is-bigger-than-ever yone-else's thing is stupid."

Hayreddin laughed. "I agree; but I understand why too. Getting them to agree to come to the Summit peacefully had been hard enough; getting them to come unarmed would've been impossible."

"I'm sure you could've persuaded them..." began Isan.

"Please, no comments about me batting my eyes at them," said Hayreddin chidingly, making Isan smirk. "It already took all our best efforts to get them to come. Let's just leave it at that. In any case, I have absolute faith in Ravenna to handle security."

Isan sighed. She knew Hayreddin was right; the people of the desert tribes would sooner die than part with their weapons which were so integral to their way of life. But honestly, the need of men to exert their dominance through violence was so...vexing, but such was the way of things. Isan often thought privately that the world would be a far better place if women were running it instead.

But of course, such thoughts were deemed nonsensical, even among women themselves, thought Isan with a scowl.

"Do you think they'll come to an agreement?" asked Isan, dismissing the irritating thought from her mind.

"They've agreed to most of the terms in regards of not attacking Ain and the trade caravans, answered Hayreddin. "What we need is an agreement to uphold the peace between the twelve tribes; to stop them from going to war with each other."

"That's...a pretty tall order," said Isan slowly.

"Of course, but there's no point considering it if we can't stop them from killing each other at the Summit," said Hayreddin, smiling. "We'll have to make an environment where they can peacefully talk first."

Isan looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you really think that's possible? The tribes have been at war with each other for generations...there are too many wounds on all sides that simply talking can't resolve."

Hayreddin looked away, and Isan saw a hint of self-doubt on his face. Isan had seen it before when they had first learned of the situation upon arriving in Ain six years ago. She wondered at times how someone like Hayreddin could ever doubt himself, but whenever she did, she reminded herself that Hayreddin carried the heavy responsibility of walking the path where his decisions affected countless lives.

That was why he needed Isan and Ravenna; not just to counsel him, but also so that he could express his doubts and fears; so he could let down the mask of unwavering confidence he showed to everyone else.

"I have to hope so," said Hayreddin softly. "I have to believe that they want a life free from war and death."

Hayreddin turned back to Isan and smiled. "Just because things have always been so, doesn't it mean it should always be so. Just like what we accomplished in Nuba, don't you agree?"

Isan smiled and nodded. "You're right I suppose. How do you plan to enforce the peace?"

Hayreddin smiled. "I have an idea."

Isan waited expectantly, but he said nothing further.

"Well, what is it?" asked Isan impatiently.

Hayreddin's smile widened into a grin. "That would be telling."

Isan stared at him. "That's not funny. Tell me."

"No."

"By the spirits! Why not? Ravenna and I should know so that we can..."

Hayreddin raised a hand to silence her. "I don't need to tell you and Ravenna about it to know that you both will think it's an insane idea."

"Don't you think that's all the more reason you should tell Ravenna and I about it?" asked Isan.

Hayreddin looked at her thoughtfully. "You and Ravenna once said that you had faith in me."

"Of course we do, but..."

"Then have faith in me now."

Isan gazed at Hayreddin. He gazed back, his dark brown eyes unblinking. Isan thought again of how she always felt that there was nothing Hayreddin couldn't do; how she and Ravenna had talked him into coming to Ain because they believed that he could do the impossible.

"Alright," said Isan.

Hayreddin nodded, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, Isan."


	23. The Chieftains Arrive

**The Chieftains Arrive**

The first chieftains to arrive were from the five tribes allied with Ain: the Kaling, the Huraiz, the Kaganagh, the Battuta and the Sina. Hayreddin greeted each of them as they arrived alongside the four Elders of Ain: Abrah, Koza, Kazo and Nebud.

The first to arrive was Asok, chieftain of the Kaling. He was a tall, wiry warrior with skin as dark as charred wood. His long dark hair was held back with a circlet made from what Hayreddin suspected to be the bones of his enemies, and necklaces made from the same material hung from his neck, adorned further with jade stones and iron ornaments. Asok wore armour made from leather that had clearly seen much battle and bore a spear made from Biwak bone. He was escorted by an entourage of warriors that looked remarkably similar to him.

The second chieftain to arrive was Sovah of the Huraiz. He was a short but powerfully built man. A thick, plaited beard covered his mouth and his eyes glinted like burning embers. His brown skin was weathered like a rock exposed to countless sandstorms. He wore black robes with a light armour of leather underneath it. A well-crafted war axe hung from his belt. His escort in contrast, wore their war gear of metal that looked so heavy that Hayreddin wondered how they had managed to cross the desert in them.

The third chieftain to arrive was Ibiz of the Batutta. He and his entourage arrived on lavishly decorated camels; a show of status as the richest tribe. Ibiz himself was clad in white robes woven with golden thread. The scabbard of his scimitar was gold-plated and had rubies embedded along its length. His long, greying beard was plaited and held together at the tip with a golden ring and he wore a circlet of gold around his balding head.

Arriving mere minutes after Ibiz was Umiz, the chieftain of the Sina tribe. As his tribe was also one of the wealthiest, he and his entourage were no less lavishly decorated, except they used more silver than gold. Umiz himself was dressed in scale steel armour plated with silver, and his spear too, bore ornate tribal markings in the same material.

The last to arrive was Horun, the chieftain of the Kaganagh tribe. Of all the chieftains that Hayreddin had met, Horun was the most intimidating of them all. The warrior-chieftain was a giant, only slightly shorter than Hayreddin, but with far greater muscle mass. His plain steel armour seemed barely able to contain his immense build. Horun was roughly the same age as Ravenna, but he was clearly still in peak condition. He wore no helm, revealing a weathered face, with dark eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. His mouth was surrounded by a thin moustace and a beard kept short. His greying hair flew freely like the mane of a wild beast.

Horun and his entourage arrived shortly after Ibiz and Umiz. Hayreddin and the Elders of Ain went to greet him. As they drew closer, Hayreddin noticed Horun's eyes studying the chieftains of the Batutta and Sina tribes intently. Horun's lips curled slightly, indicating his less-than-flattering opinion of them before he turned to Hayreddin and the Elders.

The mighty chieftain of the Kaganagh strode forward and embraced Elder Nebud.

"Elder Nebud," said Horun, his voice was surprising low in contrast to his huge body. It sounded like a hoarse rasp that barely reached above a whisper. "It is an honour to see you again, old friend."

"The honour is mine, old friend," answered Nebud with genuine warmth.

Horun stepped back and inclined his head to the other Elders. "Abrah, Koza and Kazo; it is good to see you again."

The three Elders bowed their heads to the chieftain. "Great chieftain, you honour us with your visit."

Horun turned to Hayreddin and his mouth widened into a grin, revealing teeth that glinted like steel in the evening sun.

"Young Hayreddin," he said, nodding. "I believe you owe me a duel."

Hayreddin smiled and bowed to the chieftain. "I would not dream of challenging a great warrior like yourself, chieftain."

The Kaganagh chieftain had been the hardest to negotiate with. Horun had been willing to listen; however, on some deep instinct as a warrior, he had somehow sensed Hayreddin's own formidable fighting prowess despite the young man having never raise a weapon in his presence. The negotiations for the truce and the chieftain's attendance to the Summit had taken a backseat as Horun had demanded a duel with Hayreddin. It had taken great patience, delicate words and a great number of days before both Hayreddin and Nebud had gotten the negotiations back on track.

However, Horun still insisted on duelling with Hayreddin once the Summit was over. It had become an unofficial condition for the chieftain's cooperation.

As for Hayreddin, he saw in Horun a great strength and fighting prowess that he could not match at present. As it was, he hedged as much as possible whenever the topic was brought up.

Horun grinned at Hayreddin before jerking his head towards where Ibiz and Umiz were already posturing. "The men of the Batutta and the Sina wear more jewellery than their own women. I hope you'll quarter my men and me as far away as possible from them; or else I can't promise I won't take their heads off."

"Come now, Horun," said Nebud with a conciliatory smile. "They flaunt their wealth just as you flaunt your martial prowess."

"We flaunt nothing," answered Horun. "The men of the Kaganagh are true warriors; people instinctively recognise us as such."

"In any case, I'd appreciate it if you avoid spilling their blood; or anyone else's for that matter," said Nebud. "That tends to spoil negotiations."

Horun grunted. "If you insist, but keep them away from us."

Hayreddin bowed. "If you'll follow me, chieftain..."

Though the five tribes whose chieftains had arrived have been allied with Ain for generations, the relationships between the tribes have always been far more complicated. The Kaganagh and the Huraiz had been at war with each other in ages past; but since the days of Horun and Sovah, the two chieftains had fought each other to a standstill numerous times and had eventually grew to respect each other, which paved the way to a truce between the two tribes. The Batutta and the Sina as the two wealthiest tribes have always competed with each other, but due to the open hostility of the Kaganagh, the Huraiz and the Kaling, the two have often cooperated for mutual benefit and protection, though they were far from friendly with each other. The Kaling, who dwelled in the mountains east of Ain near the sea have always been the most isolated of the tribes. The scarcity of resources in the mountains often led the Kaling to attack the other tribes; and it was those same mountains that prevented the other tribes from wiping them out in retaliation.

Even with his incredibly sharp mind, trying to fully understand the relationships between the tribes had been a little much for Hayreddin; and it was only the guidance of Ain's Elders that had helped smooth negotiations along.

As it was, Hayreddin knew enough to keep the tribes from attacking each other for the moment.

But if the negotiations went sour...

Hayreddin shuddered; the situation was already very volatile and the chieftains from the other seven tribes still haven't arrived.

XI XI XI

When the chieftains from the remaining seven tribes arrived; it was as though the whole city of Ain was on a war footing. Soldiers armed with bows manned the walls while cohorts of heavily armed infantry stood in honour guard formation, though their true purpose was to stand in preparation to separate the chieftains should the situation escalate.

Unlike the five chieftains allied to Ain, the remaining seven chieftains all arrived simultaneously in a rare show of unity.

Four of the seven tribes were smaller tribes incapable of challenging the any of the five on their own. However, three of them were large tribes; easily capable of challenging the five. They were the Taring, the Ber and the Maru. All three had great reputation for their martial prowess. When they had allied themselves with each other, the four smaller tribes immediately followed after and allied themselves to the three out of fear.

As such, it was the chieftains of the Taring, Ber and Maru who led the allied delegation.

The seven chieftains approached to where Hayreddin and Ain's Elders stood ready to greet them. Further behind watching them were the chieftains of the five tribes.

The chieftains of the four smaller tribes were formidable warriors and able leaders, but they were nowhere near the magnitude of the three chieftains that led them.

The chieftain of the Maru was Wara; a tall warrior clad in leather armour, over which he wore a black mantle. A black cowl hid most of his face, revealing only a mouth set in a grim line. But his eyes glinted from under the cowl; watchful and calculating. He was a mysterious man; known for his constant manoeuvring and manipulation of the situations within the other tribes.

The chieftain of the Ber was a warrior that rivalled Horun in size. His name was Berkhan; he wore a chainmail over his torso, revealing his huge powerful arms and it seemed as though the earth itself trembled beneath his every step. His face was a patchwork of scars, with one eye milky grey while the other blazed with the need for violence. His top-knot flowed like a war banner.

The third chieftain by contrast, looked remarkably ordinary. He wore robes similar to the Elders of Ain over a set of scale armour. He was tall and muscular, but in no way that particularly distinguished him from his warriors. His hair was cropped close to his skull and his beard and moustache were neatly trimmed. His face was unblemished save for a thin scar that ran down to one side of it. While his fellow chieftains radiated violence or mystery, his face revealed nothing but cautious openness. In contrast to his fellow chieftains, he looked rather pleasant, even peaceful.

But Hayreddin was not fooled; he knew that despite his seemingly peaceful appearance, the third chieftain; walking slightly ahead of the other two was probably the most powerful and dangerous of them.

He was Kazanah, the chieftain of the Taring; a warrior of such prowess that even Horun spoke his name with respect; and he was widely considered to be the greatest leader ever born among all the twelve tribes.

Kazanah and the other chieftains halted before Hayreddin and the Elders. He looked at each and every one of them in the face before speaking.

"Elders of Ain, young Hayreddin," he said in a pleasant voice. "It is good to see you all again."

Nebud bowed. "Great chieftains, it is an honour to play host to all of you in our pursuit of a lasting peace."

Berkhan snorted at the word 'peace' while Wara's lips curled a little. Kazanah simply smiled politely. "Lasting peace is indeed our goal; as long as your allies prove cooperative."

"I'm sure we can all come to an agreement," answered Nebud. "Now, you must be tired after a long journey. The Summit will begin day after tomorrow; in the meantime, please enjoy our hospitality. We have several spots around the oasis available; where would you and your allies like to be quartered?"

"You may quarter us together," answered Kazanah. "I give you my word that nothing...unpleasant will happen."

Nebud looked doubtful but nodded. "If you'll follow young Hayreddin then..."

XI XI XI

Hayreddin made sure that the seven allied tribes were quartered far away from the other five; Kazanah might keep his word, but Berkhan and the men from the Ber tribe looked as though they would take any excuse to begin a bloodbath, and Wara looked as though he could be trusted to stab one in the back at any given chance.

"If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask," said Hayreddin to the chieftains once their tents had been set up. The other chieftains simply nodded and walked away, but Kazanah did not move.

"Actually, there is," said Kazanah. He signalled one of his men who quickly brought out a jar and two cups.

Kazanah smiled at Hayreddin. "Would you join me for a drink?"

Hayreddin nodded, knowing it would be seen as an insult if he refused. "It would be an honour, great chieftain."

He followed Kazanah into his tent and the two sat on the floor. Kazanah himself poured out the drink and handed Hayreddin a cup. Hayreddin studied the contents, it was a murky brown liquid not unlike mud, but a sweet smell rose from it, caressing his nostrils.

"To your health, young Hayreddin," said Kazanah, raising his cup.

"To yours, great chieftain," replied Hayreddin, raising his.

The two gulped down the drink and Hayreddin found it pleasantly sweet and creamy. It clearly was not an alcoholic beverage and was unlike anything he had ever drunk before. A small smile appeared on his lips.

Kazanah saw it. "Good, yes? My tribe eschews wine; causes too much trouble and dulls one's wit. This is _milu_; you can drink it hot or cold. It does a good job of raising one's spirit for any task. The only shortcoming it has compared to wine would be that it doesn't dull out the ability to feel fear."

Hayreddin smiled and allowed Kazanah to pour him another cup. "I've never drank anything like this before, great chieftain."

"Good," said Kazanah, smiling widely. "Then let's have a few more cups."

After a few rounds, Hayreddin was feeling comfortably warm and his mood considerably lighter courtesy of the drink. He also found that the stress he hadn't realised he'd been carrying diminished for the moment.

Kazanah watched him intently. "This whole Summit thing, it is remarkable wouldn't you say? Several years ago any thought of the desert tribes meeting each other to talk peacefully would have been nothing but something a drunkard would dream of."

Hayreddin nodded. "I'm glad it has happened."

"But tell me, do you really believe that you can achieve any lasting peace?" asked Kazanah.

"That's why we're all here, great chieftain," answered Hayreddin.

"I know why we're all here, Hayreddin," said Kazanah. "What I'm asking is if you believe it to be possible."

Hayreddin hesitated. "I'm not sure why you are asking that, great chieftain."

Kazanah nodded. "Then let me enlighten you. The truth is, Berkhan and Wara both think this Summit is a waste of time. So do the other chieftains. Wara insisted that we use this opportunity to assassinate the chieftains of the other five tribes."

At Hayreddin's horrified look, Kazanah raised his hand. "I put a stop to it, of course, and it helps that Berkhan spits on such underhanded tactics. I am certain however, that the chieftains of the five tribes also feel that this Summit is futile. I am also certain that some of them are ready to employ assassination against us."

"I would not allow it," vowed Hayreddin.

"Of course you wouldn't, but the tribes don't have to explain their inner workings to you or the Elders of Ain," answered Kazanah. "In fact, I don't think even the Elders believe that a lasting peace is possible."

"But..."

"At worst, this whole thing will fall apart and total war will break out between the tribes; at best, a peace treaty would be agreed upon and will last a few years until someone breaks it; and then everything goes back to how it was. It's how things work out here."

Hayreddin gazed at the Taring chieftain silently for a long moment. "If that's true, then why have all of you come to this Summit? If you truly believe that, why not just stay away and prepare for war?"

Kazanah smiled. "Who knows? Maybe it was your words that convinced us."

"Don't you think it may be that despite everything, you all want a peaceful future?" asked Hayreddin. "A future where you no longer have to fight…a future without war?"

Kazanah laughed. It was a hard and cynical sound. "Young one, you are a naive idealist. For as long as men exist, so will war. The need for territory, resources and survival will ensure that it will always be so. A truly lasting peace is nothing more than a childish dream."

"Yet you allied yourselves with the Ber and the Maru."

Kazanah looked at Hayreddin questioningly. "An alliance of convenience of course."

"Great chieftain, if I may be so bold," began Hayreddin. "I've gathered information regarding your alliance; your tribe have been at war with both the Maru and the Ber for generations, yet somehow, you forged an alliance that has held for nearly ten years now. Where your alliance could have wiped out the other four tribes, you instead willingly included them into the fold when they offered. There has been peace between your seven tribes ever since; uneasy perhaps, but it is still peace. There has also been, on a small scale, some cooperation between all of you. In fact, things have been more peaceful with your seven tribes than with the five tribes allied to Ain."

Hayreddin hesitated. "Doesn't that show that you believe it is possible to work together with the other tribes…to live in peace with them?"

Kazanah's eyes were hard. "The peace and cooperation between our seven tribes is nothing more than a unified front to destroy or at least weaken the other five tribes. Once that goal has been achieved, I fully expect my so-called allies to turn on me and each other as soon as it suits them. I'm fully prepared for it and prepared to do the same...it's how things have always been for us...how it will always be."

Hayreddin stared at Kazanah and there was sadness on his face.

"Do you truly believe that?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter what I believe; it's the truth," answered Kazanah.

"That's not what I asked, chieftain," said Hayreddin. "Do you truly believe that there's no way to rise above this life of war and strife?"

Kazanah stared at Hayreddin silently for a long moment before turning away with a grunt.

"No, there isn't."

Hayreddin sighed sadly and rose. "I think you are not being truthful with me, chieftain, but I'll take my leave now. Rest well, great chieftain."

Kazanah inclined his head. "And you, young one."

Hayreddin bowed and turned to leave. Just before he exited the tent, Kazanah spoke again.

"This was an interesting conversation. I look forward to see how you'll convince the other chieftains."

Hayreddin bowed and left.


End file.
